


Tora Tora Moeru

by joisbishmyoga



Series: Tora Tora Saguru [1]
Category: Meitantei Conan | Detective Conan | Case Closed
Genre: Other, and yet somehow I'm more interested in the background society, because Saguru is a pretty kitty, eventual threesome - F/M/M, half-tiger, it is not a crack-humor-free zone though, this is a stupid-macho-free zone enforced by Aoko
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:50:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joisbishmyoga/pseuds/joisbishmyoga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hakuba Saguru is a hanyou: half human, half tiger demon.  Kuroba Kaito is a pest: half teenager, half lunatic thief.  One of these days, Kuroba is going to trigger an instinct other than 'chase', and Saguru is not looking forward to it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tyger tyger, burning bright

**Author's Note:**

> clowder: feline for "pack"

Saguru hadn't meant to keep Aoko out so late, but their project had required more time at the library than he'd anticipated. That was, perhaps, more his fault than not, but there had been twice the number of resources on the topic than he'd planned, and he could hardly just ignore the extra material, now could he?

Besides, the company was pleasant. Something about Aoko-san quelled his more dismaying instincts. He was _not_ going to prowl around daring all challengers to take him on, just _try_ to get at his helpless clowder. That had driven his human mother to distraction when his control slipped. But Aoko would not only laugh in his face if he tried, she would probably have any attacker laid out flat and well-mopped before Saguru did.

As if to prove that thought, a water balloon came hurtling out of the trees and smashed into Saguru's shoulder, spraying glowing paint from one furred ear to his hip.

Saguru blinked once. Twice. Claws _in_ , he knew this scent, knew this behavior--

"Tyger, tyger--" Knew that voice.

"KAITOOOOO!" Aoko managed a very credible growl for a human.

"Burning bright!" A rustle of leaves, and Kuroba's messy head popped out upside-down, teeth gleaming in a grin that Saguru knew better than to take offense at. "In the forests of the night!"

Just Kuroba. Just the most annoying, aggravating, irrepressable person to not trigger any instincts besides 'chase'. Saguru drew himself up coolly, straightening his clothing from habit more than effectiveness. "Whoever gave you glow-in-the-dark paint should be arrested," he remarked with perfect aplomb. "Perhaps I should make the attempt."

"It's like you don't appreciate your own classics," Kaito replied cheerfully, flipping down from the tree with a gymnast's flair.

"Your interpretation leaves much to be desired. Also, your accent is atrocious."

Kuroba just stuck his tongue out at Saguru. "Don't be so uptight. It'll wash right out. In the meantime..." He grinned. "What immortal hand or eye/could frame thy fearful symmetry?"

"Yours, apparently," Saguru muttered. He gestured towards a nearby patch of grass. "I may as well be comfortable while you attempt to explain why you felt the need to accost us."

"Why, Hakuba-kun!" Kuroba protested, even as he and Aoko gamely followed Saguru to the little clearing and sat. Why Saguru felt the need to lounge whenever he wasn't occupied... arrgh. "It's as if you think a magician would reveal his secrets!"

One of these days, Kuroba was going to trigger an instinct other than 'chase'. Saguru was not looking forward to it. "Oh joy, I get to deduce the antics of the wild Kuroba. Again." Face, meet palm. "Let's see... It's after dark, I have been in Aoko-san's far more pleasant company since school let out, without your personal supervision... No, I could not possibly fathom your motivations."

Both Kuroba and Aoko's scents sharpened faintly with embarrassment, and she muttered something inaudible about testosterone. (Saguru would attest to that in all circumstances except under oath. The rather enlightening dialect of a Nakamori was rarely inaudible to his ears, more's the pity.)

"If you would care to offer another theory," Saguru offered, not entirely kindly, "I am all ears."

Kaito bristled ever-so-slightly at Saguru's tone. Saguru felt the corner of his mouth start to curl upwards in something that was not anything so nice as a smirk... and suddenly, there were slim fingers in his hair, as effective as a splash of cold water on his temper. "What--"

Oh. Oh _no_. Aoko's fingernails were _exactly_ the right length, scritching firmly at the base of one striped ear.

"This is a testosterone-stupidity-free zone," Aoko declared. "Enforced by me."

"Hnnn..." No, no, no. Not in front of Kuroba. Not... oh dammit, not the good spot... Saguru's head fell forward, giving Aoko full access to the short hair just above the nape of his neck. He could feel his face go hot as his chest began to rumble.

He could hear the smile in Aoko's voice. "Good kitty."

Oh god. "... not a kitty..." Saguru managed. _At least leave me some dignity in front of Kuroba_....

"You're a very big kitty, that's all."

"Nrrrrrr...." She was entirely too good at this. Saguru's mother didn't scritch like this... of course, she didn't giggle in quite the same way, either... Saguru would not flop. No. Mustn't flop. Mustn't flop because the only way to keep the scritchies going if he flopped was if he landed in Aoko's lap, and that was not kosher in Japan, not at all...

Hn. Something warm under his head. Not a lap, he was still too upright for that, and it was soft and moved rhythmically against his back... shoulder, maybe, though too soft for that. Close enough that he could feel breathing stir across his cheek. His fingers curled in the same rhythm, kneading at the air.

"Would you look at that." Kuroba. Soft, a little wondering, almost wistful. "Never seen him let go like that."

"Everyone needs to relax sometimes, Kaito."

Yes, all right, Aoko had a point... Saguru arched a little as her other hand wound its way into his hair. The move was just enough to help him slide onto his back. Mm. Yes. Flopped exactly where he wanted to be.

Aoko's hands couldn't get at the back of his head now, but one stayed up high, nails going in tiny jerks back-and-forth over the top of his head, between each ear. The other trailed carefully down the line of his jaw, ending up at a wonderful spot under his chin. Saguru tipped his head back with a little grunt between purrs. Gods, he was practically buzzing, it felt so good....

Something brushed against his open jacket. Kuroba. Kuroba's hand near his stomach... was very much _not_ a problem. He was Kid, he had to have Kid's incredibly dextrous fingers.... mm _yes_ , he _did_ , long and firm and going straight for the thin cloth between navel and sternum.

Kuroba's nails were just blunt enough to be felt through Saguru's undershirt and button-down. Saguru wondered for just a moment how they'd feel on bare skin, but -- mm, they could keep that up all day, please -- he'd probably melt if they did any better.

And then they did. Kuroba's knees tucked underneath Saguru's, his free hand flicking Saguru's tie out of the way and going for the very thinnest bit of cloth, the scarce inches between the undershirt's neckline and Saguru's collarbones. Dimly, Saguru felt his claws catch in cloth; no scent of blood, though, just play-prickling. He nuzzled something warm and yielding, didn't much care what, kneading the muscled forearm between his hands and rumbling in a way he hadn't in years.

He had to tell them. "Th'nku," he murmured. "'s good..."

"It's all right," Aoko replied softly. "I think... anytime."

Kaito hummed in agreement. "Yeah. Anytime."

Best friends ever. "Hold you to tha'..." Saguru mumbled, before finally dozing off.

-0-0-0

Several nights later, Saguru pounded through a museum exhibit like a man possessed. He was hot on Kid's trail, following Kuroba's scent streaming through the building as easily as if it were a river of smoke. Kid was latex and makeup and spirit gum, the faintest dizzying traces of sleeping gas, a slight dearth of fish in the hints of ginger and soy and rice, all laying thickly on top of the clean musk so subtly different from every other person in the world.

The trail veered off into a cluster of scuffling officers, half of them in Kid's distinctive uniform. Saguru flipped one over his head, spun an officer into another, threw two more apart, and hurled himself at the true Kid. One hand pinned Kid's shoulder, the other clamped high on one flailing arm, knees digging into a hip and thigh respectively.

His mouth went dry. _He'd caught Kid._

The commotion around them slowly wound down. Saguru barely noticed and didn't care. How could he care? Kid lay firmly trapped under him, one visible eye wide, scent stark with unmitigated shock, his hat askew and cape tangled around Saguru's ankle.

Saguru could see his own reflection in Kid's monocle, the very tips of his fangs glinting and his pupils blown, as something flared hot in Kid's eye and scent alike. The muscles in Saguru's grip flexed, white drifting upwards at the corner of his eye.

Kid's hand. Kid's hand reaching for Saguru's head -- _for his ears, the cheating, reckless moron!_

Kid's expression went abruptly blank, and with a sudden burst of pink smoke, Saguru found himself empty-handed. Thank god.

Wait. Wait, he'd just lost hold of Kid. "GODDAMMIT," Saguru snarled.

Every officer in earshot scattered.

By the time Saguru got home after the heist, people were prudently crossing the street to avoid him on sight. He stormed into the house, kicked off his shoes hard enough to dent the leather, and hung up his coat with curt, icy motions that bent the hanger. His chest thrummed with a poorly-stifled growl. Arrgh! When Saguru got his hands on Kuroba--- 

Or on Kid, in approximately fifty seconds, he realized. The same damnable scent was drifting from upstairs like a siren's call, because of course Kid would not refrain from baiting the tiger in his own den! Well! Far be it from him to not oblige!

He slammed his bedroom door open with a resounding crash. And there, sure enough, Kid stood in the stream of moonlight from the window. The only thing that let Saguru stand his ground was Kid's stance, arms around himself and head low.

Must. Not. Pounce. Or _throttle_.

"I know what you attempted to do," Saguru bit out.

Kid's voice was just as soft and penitent as any guilty child's. "I know."

"That was not acceptable." Trying to scritch him in the middle of a heist, what on earth was _wrong_ with Kid? "At all."

"I know that, too."

"How could you even _think_ to use that against me?"

Kid actually cringed. "I didn't want to use it against you," he murmured. "You just looked so..."

Oh, this was _Saguru's_ fault now? "I. Looked. So. _What?_ "

That brought Kid's chin up sharply, a flash of his characteristic bravado returned. "I wanted to touch."

And just like that, half of Saguru's temper went up like smoke. Just wanted to touch. The sudden flare of interest, coupled with human instincts alone... of course. Kid thought this was about being _manipulated_. "Not like that," Saguru told him. " _Never_ on the job like that." That one visible eye practically brimmed with apologies, with promises, with everything that Kid never, ever showed while in uniform, and Saguru couldn't help it. He crossed the small room and crowded Kid up against the wall, presence more than grip holding Kid in place, because he needed Kid to stay and listen instead of spook. "Do you have any idea what you almost _did?_ " Saguru growled into Kid's ear.

"I almost showed your weakness to strangers," Kid answered hesitantly, not a whiff of deception around him. "To the police."

Saguru grit his teeth, heat creeping up the back of his neck. "You almost showed that I _trust_ you." And, just to make it clear, " _Intimately._ "

Kid went very, very still.

Time to hammer the point home. "Even if the Task Force didn't recognize that, my father would. Then the police would scrutinize every single person in my life, looking for those few who haven't been savaged for invading my personal space." Or had their hands smacked away, to be more accurate. Still, "There are only five. Mother, father, Baaya, Aoko... and you. Kuroba-kun."

Alarm. "I'm not--"

" _Scent doesn't lie._ " Right now Kid's was all but screaming in bitter, icy panic. "You smell just like him. You always have." What did Kuroba _think_ Saguru had been basing his early accusations on? _Profiling?_ All right, so profiling was a permissible forensic tool while hanyou scenting wasn't even allowed as hearsay, but the knowledge couldn't be that obscure, could it?

... Oh dear. "You didn't know," Saguru said in realization.

Kid's nerve broke. For the second time that night, Saguru was left with nothing but an armful of fading smoke.

-0-0-0

Three days had passed since Kuroba had last been in school. So Saguru wasn't surprised when he left the building, only for Aoko to fall into step next to him within a block.

"Have you seen Kaito?" she asked, faint worry under what was left of her soap (a unisex-appropriate rain scent, bought in bulk and used by Nakamori Sr. as well. It smelled better on her).

And that was just his mind deviating from the subject. "Not recently," Saguru replied. Not since he'd frightened Kid, after the heist Sunday night. Not that he was going to tell Aoko that. Though he did feel obligated to some candor with her. He carefully faced straight forward, grip not tightening on his school satchel, as he said, "I may have told him something he was not ready to hear."

Aoko exhaled. "There are kind of a lot of those," she said, slow and careful. Saguru glanced at her, and she bit her lower lip. "Can I ask...?"

Saguru gave a good show of considering it. It was far too early for her to know how much she could ask of him and recieve. However, "Some of it is private," he mused aloud, "but I suppose..." He couldn't smell anyone close enough to get within earshot for the next forty seconds. So, how to phrase it? "He... seems to have trust issues."

"Yeah."

"And... I believe he may have interpreted a word badly," though not exactly incorrectly, "but... intimacy issues?"

Aoko's scent sharpened with a mixture of horror and hilarity. "You didn't _say_ that to him, did you?"

"Not as such." The scents began to fade. "The words 'trust' and 'intimate' did feature, though." Accursed candor.

"Oh no." Now she smelled (and sounded) dismayed. "Why?"

_Thrice_ -accursed candor. Saguru fell silent as a pair of housewives strolled by, his gaze automatically flicking towards the bouncing glint of hinges on their purses. They didn't even notice, vanishing down the street in a swirl of cologne and hairspray.

Saguru sneezed. "I must apologize to you," he said, once he'd tucked his handkerchief back into his pocket. "I didn't realize. You... er... aren't aware of the psychology behind being permitted to pet a non-domesticated species of hanyou, are you."

Silence. Then, " _Oh_ ," Aoko squeaked, which made Saguru's tail lash. _Bad Saguru. No catching Aoko._ "You mean... possibly... something like...?"

_Surely_ there were bad romance novels and worse fantasy out there? Shounen manga about the epic bond between hanyou and ridiculously overpowered heroic figure? _Please don't let Aoko's sole frame of reference be picture books._ "Something like," Saguru agreed, and her scent went appealingly warmer. Which did not help, dammit.

"Oh. Um. I suppose that makes sense," she muttered. _It does?_ Saguru thought, glancing curiously at her. She had her head tilted slightly away from him and back, looking up at some indiscriminate point above the street next to them. A blush highlighted her cheeks and pinked the curve of one visible ear. "We did let you sprawl across both our laps, after all."

Saguru coughed. "Yes. Well." Surely she couldn't be suggesting...? No. Surely not.

"So!" Aoko said, turning back to him, falsely bright. "Kaito. Running off. We were talking about that."

"We were." And apparently now they were dropping the subject they'd strayed off to.

"It, uh, seems a little like an overrreaction for him to up and disappear for three days," Aoko gamely continued. "Usually he'd laugh off just about anything someone said. Even when I told him he was all cold and sweet like ice cream."

She did have a gift for metaphor. "That's rather apt," Saguru replied. Though perhaps not as much anymore. _'I wanted to touch.'_

"So unless you said something really really scary to an emotional moron like him..."

"Mm. Like what?"

"Like... I don't know! You didn't... um. Hm. Things cats like."

"I'm not a cat."

"Big kitty. Milk--"

"I prefer my coffee without."

"Mice...? Chasing things. Glittery things. That move quickly." Aoko cast him a mock-suspicious look. "You didn't try composing odes to his hands or something, did you?" Saguru stared, aghast. "I'll take that as a no. Was it... no, he wasn't upset by pettings. Hm."

Saguru didn't want to know what she'd come up with next. "It's his scent," he interrupted. "I... may have memorized his scent."

"...Oh. Waitaminute." She stopped short. "You mean you can track him?"

"Er." Well. "To some extent..."

"And we've been talking this whole time instead of _looking for him?_ "

"Aoko-san--"

" _Well?_ "

"I'm not a bloodhound." Her face fell. "... It'll be easier for me to look for the trail at night, when there are fewer scents. People, restaurants, flowers," _Aokos_ , "that sort of thing. All right? I just don't want to get your hopes up. It has been three days, after all."

She gave him a considering look. "You _promise_ you'll look for him? Tonight?"

"Yes." If only to ascertain that Kuroba-kun was well. Saguru didn't necessarily have to come close enough to be noticed if Kuroba-kun smelled like he didn't want to be disturbed. "However, I will respect his privacy as much as I can, should I locate him."

"Fine." Aoko hesitated just a moment, then flung her arms around him. With her pressed warmly against him, and a dizzying faceful of her peaches-n-cream shampoo, Saguru barely managed to hear her murmur, "Good luck."

Saguru stuttered out some response, he was sure, for in the next moment Aoko slid free, blushing brightly once more.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" she said cheerfully, her voice slightly higher and louder then normal. "Bye!" And she dashed off in the direction of her house.

"Bye," Saguru murmured weakly in response.

Well. Shoot. Now he was going to have to track down a half-panicked Kid, all the while trying not to think about certain earlier tangents of his conversation with Aoko.

This was going to be a long night.

-0-0-0

Tracking a three-day-old scent was not, in fact, generally possible for any hanyou other than bears or certain subspecies of canine. Even then, there was wide variation based on training and the exact alleles inherited. As tigers were on the low end of the scale in terms of neural centers dedicated to interpreting scent, though not as low as humans in terms of actual receptors, Saguru's own abilities were actually enhanced by his human genes. Still, by all accounts he should not be capable of tracking a three-day-old scent. Certainly not one most likely spread from several stories up and dispersed by the winds holding a glider aloft.

By the same accounts, though, human beings should be little more than talking lion food in Africa. A sapient mind made all the difference... and Saguru knew himself to be exceptional even there.

He began in his grandfather's lab before dinner. Computer simulation one: local topography (geographic landforms, municipal building plans, municipal utility systems, parks and recreation landscape maintainence records, residential tax assessments, google earth satellite imagery), weather data from Sunday night, specifications of Kid's glider and weight. Computer simulation two: local topography again, algorithm to select viable pedestrian routes from Saguru's bedroom, adjusted for Kid's gymnastic abilities. Simulation three: piggybacking on simulations one and two, algorithm for viable landing spots and pedestrian routes from there. He then added on a program to color-code the results for five levels of plausibility: too easy, normal, Kid-unthinking, Kid-normal, Kid trying-too-hard.

It wouldn't be quite as accurate as Saguru wanted -- Kid'd had three days to go to ground as well as change locations -- but Grandpa had yet to develop an algorithm which could handle time-lapse like that.

While the simulations ran, Saguru joined his grandfather for a light dinner, getting only an upward quirk of whiskers when he ate sparingly. "Busy night planned?"

"I thought I would practice my hunting skills a bit," Saguru replied neutrally.

Grandpa chuffed in approval. "That Kid of yours doesn't hold enough heists," he opined.

"Yes. Well." Saguru didn't need to hear that well-trodden argument again. (Thirty-seven more reiterations, and he'd reach the 1412th. Perhaps Saguru should send Kuroba a card.) At least it wasn't the 'schools these days, too much bookwork, tails pinned to chairs like donkeys' diatribe. "Gouchisousama. If I may be excused?"

"Have fun. Don't flip too many skirts."

" _Grandpa._ " Honestly, _one_ accident in kindergarten...

"And use some rooftops for once."

"I plan to."

"Good cub."

Arrgh. Saguru wasn't a cub any more than he was a kitty... but if he got into that argument with Grandpa, he'd end up with his head ringing and in no shape to keep his promise to Aoko. "Good _night_ , Grandpa," he said stiffly, and stalked out, tail high in indignation.

Downstairs, the simulations had all finished running. Saguru printed out the resulting probability charts, a rainbow of colors washed over simple road maps of Ekoda, then added one printout each for traffic patterns and population density. Stacking the sheets together, he held them by one edge and let them fall in an arc like a flip book, looking for the brightest concentration of high-probability red that didn't shift.

Hm. Kuroba's house was out. Aoko would've found him there with little effort. Koizumi's... if Kuroba was there, _ave Caesar, morituri te salutant_. So that was settled. First the two blocks of warehouses, then the Kuebiko shrine, then the single-family homes for sale in the northern neighborhoods, which were downwind this time of year.

Folding the papers individually, he tucked them into several pockets of his shirt and trousers, buttoning them securely inside. Then he headed up to the shoe lockers of the public labs, tail lashing as he stretched. Arms forward, outward, up, breathe to open the ribcage, and reach for the ceiling with claws flexing. The muscles all along his back and flanks warmed and loosened agreeably, his weight shifting to the balls of his feet.

His hands went to his belt as he stepped down into the genkan. It would only be a distraction, too stiff to let him breathe unencumbered, and the buckle would invariably press steel into his vulnerable stomach at exactly the worst moment. The belt joined his shoes in his locker, socks following one by one. Saguru's toes spread, pads barely catching on the cool linoleum: bad traction.

The concrete outside was far better, rough and only just starting to cool from the day's sunshine. Saguru yawned widely, tongue lolling, to open up the vomeronasal organ and get a baseline for the full range of his scenting ability. A flood of information washed in, mostly the day's pedestrians, but a hint of ice and sweetened syrups said a yatai had set up shop around the corner for the night.

Saguru bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, then took two running strides and leapt to the top of the garden wall across the street. Another bound got him to a windowsill, then he landed on the sloping rooftop with a muffled thump.

He really was out of practice, not that he'd ever been particularly diligent about this in the first place. It still made people nervous to see someone hopping about the roofs in Britain, though clearly moreso than in Japan. Kid was proof positive enough of that.

In London, every heist would've had several prominent Tories decrying 'the multicultural vaccuum' and making not-so-veiled statements that Kid couldn't be fully human. How did the saying go, 'I don't mind hanyou as long as they act human in public'.

Well. Enough of acting human.

Saguru's next leap crossed the street entirely.

The warehouses were actually relatively close to Hakuba Research Institute, just two streets over. Grandpa had situated the place there on purpose back in the seventies, to have prompt access to all the volatile, fragile, and perishable materials he wished. It did not take long at all to prowl along the rooftops of each in turn, drinking in the venting exhaust to no avail. Saguru did discover that several of the buildings had rat infestations, though.

It would have been terribly cliché of Kid to hole up in a warehouse, anyway. Not that Kid was averse to clichés -- so far, Saguru had counted homages to multiple incarnations of Lupin, Bond, and perhaps a touch of Holmes and Mission:Impossible in Kid's technique -- but warehouses were cliché without _style._

He left the old canalside and its rats behind.

The bulk of Ekoda lay between him and the shrine, a maze of fragile tiled roofs, skylights, and live wires lurking in the blaze of streetlights. Saguru took a quick moment to plan out the best route, waited for the cross traffic to stop at the intersection below, and leapt to the top of the police station. He quirked a hunter's smile and inclined his head at the security cameras, then raced down the line of businesses to the park, where branches swayed under his feet and scraped sticky sap across his ankle. He ignored it, dashing across the roof of a supermarket, its A/C unit thrumming and blasting dust-smoke heat through his hair to the utility poles, one after another marching along a main road to the train tracks. Saguru paused, checking his mental watch; two minutes until the 10:45 passed.

It was easy, so easy, to tumble the two stories to the train below with a thump -- _one, two, three, four_... corrugated metal swaying underfoot ... _fifty-four, fifty-five, fifty-six, fifty-seven._

Saguru leapt between the tracks to land on the high wall that blocked noise from the four-lane sunken expressway. A few cars honked at him as he ran alongside traffic: one particularly long blast came from a carful of college kids who laughed and waved, arms hanging out open windows in the seconds before the car sped out of sight under a bridge.

Two bridges later, Saguru left the expressway behind. He yawned, licked at the air, and... ohhh, Kuroba was _here._

A thick grove of trees in full leaf lay at the end of the street, behind the flame red of a torii gate. Saguru knew the layout of the shrine was mostly trees, covering an area not much larger than the school gym, and marking the point where this corner of Ekoda gave way to a thin strip of rice fields in the river floodplain. The shrine itself however, consisted of an actual building -- a single room perhaps three mats in size -- rather than a plinth and statue under a rain shelter, and was not easily seen from any direction because of the trees.

In short, Kuroba needed only to be daring enough to seek refuge with a kami... and since when was Kuroba not daring? With the exception of this, the surprise hidden in Saguru's hanyou nature, the answer to that was _never._

Hopefully, Saguru would be able to pin him long enough to explain how very, very mistaken Kuroba was. But if he ended up chasing Kuroba up and down the rice fields all night... well. That would be a night well-spent.

Saguru entered through the shadowed side of the gate, with a slight wince for the impropriety of his bare feet. Ick. Definitely had to take care of that before tracking Kuroba to his hiding spot, most likely inside and behind the statue. A small, still pool lay carved in a mossy rock just to his left, half-hidden between two trees, and Saguru took the cracked wooden ladle to rinse off. He twitched violently at the first splash of cold water on his pads, managed to hold everything but his tail still for the second, then rinsed his hands and sipped at a handful of water. He spat that onto the wet ground at the base of one tree, then scooped up a final cupful and let it drain backwards over the handle and his hand into the fountain once more.

He replaced the ladle on its shelf, and something clicked.

The stench of the goddamned pink gas followed Saguru into unconsciousness.

Saguru woke to a mouthful of cotton.

Taste and scent flooded in the next instant, Kuroba thick in the air and cloth, enough so that Saguru blinked his eyes open and sat up. Or tried to. Ropes creaked all around him when he flexed, strategically located from wrist to ankle, soft and unyielding enough that they had to be silk. A second flex made the chair under him scoot a centimeter across the floor and gave Saguru its specifications: an expensive cast-iron patio chair, far too heavy and strong to break with what limited leverage Saguru had. And there was a distinct lack of folded maps in his pockets, he could tell.

"Hn."

"Indeed," came the reply. Saguru blinked, and a set of shadows leaning against the statue's corner resolved into Kuroba, in formfitting black with a matching cap tugged low over his eyes. A sheaf of paper appeared in one hand, ruffled through, and vanished like magic. "I guess I don't have to ask if you can track me."

"Nnr."

Teeth gleamed in Kuroba's shadowed face, there and gone in a flash. "I want to ask one thing." The quote didn't come out at all in Kuroba's usual teasing tones, nor even in Saguru's own voice. Saguru grunted a query through the muffling cloth, and Kuroba went on, "Are you going to roar the instant I let you out of that gag?"

Well, what would be the point of _that?_ Searching for Kid just to run him off the minute Saguru found him? Saguru rolled his eyes, trying to convey that idea.

Kuroba shrugged. "If you say so." In one smooth movement, he drew and aimed the card gun, straight at Saguru's left ear. 

Saguru waited. And waited. Finally, one ear flicked, and he raised an eyebrow. _Well? Get on with it._

"So trusting," Kid murmured tonelessly, and fired.

The gag fell free. Saguru spat it out, and began working moisture back into his mouth.

So _trusting?_ What on earth was _that_ supposed to mean? It was Kid and a harmless card gun, at worst Kid would've clipped a few strands of hair. Saguru swallowed, relaxed as best he could into the hard chair, and sighed. Let the interrogation begin. "Well? Start asking."

" _Moi?_ " Kuroba asked, fake surprise dripping mockingly from his voice. "Surely you jest. I said 'one question', and I asked it already."

Not the most auspicious start. Saguru flexed his arms, making the rope creak. "So you're just holding me captive for fun?"

"Oh, no. I didn't say anything about not wanting answers." His scimitar grin reappeared. "You're the detective here. Deduce some questions, hm?"

Oh good lord. "You really take your little jokes too far sometimes." It wasn't even particularly accurate. If Saguru recalled correctly, the exact phrasing so many months ago had been 'it's your business to find out the answer'. Still, if Kuroba was set on making Saguru interrogate himself... "All right. Questions you'd want the answers to." Saguru exhaled heavily, turning his eyes to the ceiling ( _baring his throat in submission, but it was for Kuroba, so_ ). "Goody. A challenge."

"Sarcasm does not become you."

_Liar._ "Let's see." Well. The obvious, to begin with. "Have I told Aoko-kun? No. Am I going to tell her? No..." a tang of shock sharpened Kuroba's scent, "... but more on that later."

And next by association, "Why haven't I identified you to the police and courts?" Though this one was more likely 'how true is your answer going to be', since chances were Kuroba had done a lot of internet research while hiding here. So, the pure and unvarnished truth... "It's _illegal_. Scent is not permissible evidence, even as hearsay. We're so rare that all it takes is one hanyou or youkai to lie, and it would be nearly impossible to corroborate or disprove." Even if these days, the police could get Hattori to any scene of Saguru's and vice versa in a matter of hours to confirm, it was still illegal. But if Kuroba wanted reassurance... well.

"If, hypothetically, scent were legal evidence, we would not be having this conversation." Clearly. "I would've had you identified and arrested by the end of my first day of schooling here, you would've escaped by midnight, we would've never gotten to know each other and it would be a moot point." But that wasn't what Kuroba wanted to know. Not really, not at the heart of the matter. So. "Were scent to become legal evidence in the future, say tomorrow for argument's sake..."

Saguru's mind stuttered to a halt.

He'd never actually considered it. Nonhumans of any stripe simply weren't numerous enough in the human population to obtain more than some semblence of equality, sans competitive athletics and the like. Actually having the numbers to sustain legal use of their advantages... but that wasn't the question.

"Well." He had his duty, and his honor, so. "I think that I would find sufficient reason to be elsewhere until Kid took his leave of the spotlight."

The scent of stunned relief nearly made Saguru dizzy. "Fair enough," Kuroba murmured. But, as Saguru could see out of the corner of his eye, he made no move to free Saguru. Hm... had he not answered the most pressing questions to the full extent of his ability...?

_Am I going to tell her? No, but more on that later._

Ah. Right. Saguru let his head straighten, meeting Kuroba's shaded gaze. "Do I know what you're doing?" he asked quietly. The relief ebbed away, sliding from a knife's edge of wary anticipation. "I have some theories, in the colloquial sense, but I confess that I hope they are all wrong. Because you of all people wouldn't do this to Aoko-kun if it were merely the thrill of the crime." Not as much as she hated Kid, to hide the loneliness. "Because taking up your father's legacy, as his last wish or an ancestral vocation, doesn't ring true. Because if your father had half the skill you do--" a flash of pure fury stung in Saguru's nose "--he could not have died in a stage accident."

"Because the men who came after the Red Tear," and the Memory Egg, and others, "were shooting at _you._ " He had nightmares every night after someone fired at Kid: blood in his mouth, a death rattle hissing against his tongue, feet ripping deep into slick guts... The most horrifying part was that they weren't nightmares until he woke with claws buried in a mangled pillow.

"So," Saguru's voice came out raspy, and he swallowed back the horror. "I wish I could believe that you're just an adrenaline junkie, a subset of kleptomaniac or narcissist, that you cannot help yourself and that's all there is to the mystery of Kid..." Let it all out. Just this once, in the darkened shrine of the scarecrow god -- so many associations there, protection against the thieving harbringers of death -- "Because then, at least, no one would be trying to murder you, too."

Kuroba sat there, stunned, for a long moment. Then, slowly, he pushed himself away from the statue and knelt at Saguru's feet. One of the razor-edged cards flickered in the dim light, slicing methodically through each loop of soft rope. Ankles, upper calves, hip, chest -- the brim of the cap hiding Kuroba's eyes all the while -- right elbow, right wrist, left elbow, left wrist...

He'd cut Saguru free entirely, rather than leaving his wrist ropes to be chewed open or clawed loose with a foot. He'd cut an entire arm loose at once, risking that Saguru wouldn't wait for the other to be freed. He hadn't bolted the instant the last fiber gave way to the blade. So Saguru enfolded Kuroba in his arms, buried his face in the curve of Kuroba's shoulder, and breathed.

_Alive. Not afraid. Not angry. Tired and a little sad-guilty-quiet, but here. Staying._

It felt almost superfluous when Kuroba settled tentative hands on his back and pressed close, but it was entirely gratifying.


	2. In What Distant Deeps or Skies

The week following Kuroba's return proceeded pretty much as Saguru would've expected: vaguely awkward interactions with Kuroba, in that confusing manner wherein Kid was pretending to be a normal imperfect teenage actor pretending to be completely at ease except when he was pretending to not realize someone (usually Aoko) was watching.

It was enough to give anyone a headache.

And then, one morning, the paper came emblazoned with the headline "KAITOU KID MAKES MYSTERIOUS CHALLENGE".

The article itself was little more than sensationalist rhetoric under a thin film of poorly-attributed 'facts', but it did include a copy of Kid's notice, delivered to the paper itself rather than the police.

 

_To whom it may concern:_

_I'm feeling terribly neglected. It's been so long since my favorite front-page competitor had a little soiree; perhaps I should invite myself. Ah, but there are so few treasures in his collection, it would be terrible to liberate any but the smallest. I shall see you tomorrow at eight, taking in the garden of his estate._

_\- Signed, Kaitou Kid T_O_

 

Saguru cast a dour, sidelong glance at Kuroba, getting subtle shake of the head in reply.

Huh. If it wasn't an authentic note, then it shouldn't be particularly difficult. So, going with the more self-evident parts: One man kept targeting Kid over making the front page of the paper, he had a massive amount of treasures so the collection couldn't be of tangible value, and the youngest of his relatives was... Mouri Ran's best friend, Sonoko, which meant garden-child.

Which meant the intent was kidnapping the child of an extremely wealthy and influential business family. Worse yet, kidnapping the _heir apparent_ : Suzuki Sonoko had no brothers or cousins, her sister had married away into another high-ranking family, and should she remain with her current boyfriend then he was of a different enough social strata to take on the Suzuki name. It was certainly an impressive enough crime to attempt to pin on Kid.

It also, as described a statistically worrisome number of Kid impersonations, was well-poised to end in tragedy.

 _I believe I will request an ambulance at the heist for once,_ Saguru decided. _Just in case._

-0-0-0

When Saguru walked into the Suzuki estate on the noted night, his knees turned to water at the unmistakable scent of Kid buried under layers of makeup and Suzuki Sonoko's perfume.

"Hakuba-san!" 'she' chirped, waving from behind a quartet of beefy guards. "Isn't this exciting? Kid-sama's coming to sweep me off my feet... oh, Kid-sama!" She squealed, eyes shining as she wriggled in delight. "And then Makoto-kun will come to rescue me, and... ohhhh! It'll be so romantic!"

At 'her' side, Edogawa Conan cast Saguru a long-suffering look.

"Oi, oi, what's that look for, chibi-chan?"

"Nothing, nothing," Edogawa replied hastily.

"Reeeeally. I'll get it out of you, chibi-chan!" And then 'Suzuki' put Edogawa in a headlock and delivered a thorough noogie.

Saguru felt hard-pressed to maintain his polite smile. "It is gratifying to see how well you are coping, Suzuki-san."

"Eh?" Identical startled looks, one bluer and more obviously faked behind flat lenses. "What's that supposed to mean?" 'Suzuki' asked.

Had it truly been Suzuki, Saguru would never have answered that question. However, this was Kid, and some days the obvious just needed to be stated. "You _are_ aware that Kaitou Kid doesn't orchestrate kidnappi--"

He spotted the tiny red dot flicker off Suzuki's headband a split second before pain exploded through his ears. (It hurt oh gods it hurt like fire _KILL THE SHOOTING BASTARD_ \--) Suzuki on the ground, Edogawa pinned under her -- a second blast, drywall showering down -- Suzuki shoving herself off the child and tackling Saguru's legs like a linebacker--

_Kid and cub, pull the claws IN don't bite down don't kick--!_

"Ambulance!" Suzuki shrieked, flailing and twisting, soft mounds pressing into Saguru's back. "We need a doctor-- _CONAN NO! WHERE ARE YOU GOING--_ " Small/alive/running away _chase it_ \-- "HAKUBA GET BACK HERE!"

Quiet. Saguru blinked back to himself as the noise faded, an empty hallway around him and Edogawa Conan sprinting a scarce two meters ahead, the boy's skateboard already clattering to the ground.

The damn board was faster than Saguru. The pause to get on it, however, was just long enough that Saguru could scoop Edogawa up in one arm and kick the board away first. "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" he roared into the child's face.

Kid thumped into Saguru's back, knocking them all forward as shots rang out again. "MOVE!" he shrieked.

Saguru clamped one hand around Kid's forearm, tucked Edogawa close to his chest, and bolted. Mental map -- _ignore_ the blood dripping into his hair -- around the corner, through the study, they had to avoid the grand staircase which may as well have been labeled a fancy shooting gallery--

"Get under cover, Sonoko!" Edogawa shouted. "They're shooting at you!"

"Like hell, chibi-chan! I'd be a sitting duck!"

Kid. Still dressed as the kidnap target. Being dragged at a breakneck speed by Saguru. Oh good lord. "At least drop the damn disguise so no one decides I'M you!" Saguru growled. "Or kidnapping anyone!" he added, when Edogawa (an excellent target himself) jerked in his arms.

"KID?!" the boy yelped.

Something popped behind him, a flap of fabric and faint pink smoke. "If you'd put Meitantei down," Kid snapped back, in his own voice once more, "Maybe they wouldn't think so!"

"Not possible right now," _danger cub danger cub_ , "so a safe route out would be much appreciated!"

"What, you don't have fifteen exits memorized?!"

"None I'd vouch for!" Not with Kid and a child at stake.

A pause. "... Get to the grand staircase."

" _ARE YOU MAD?!!!!_ "

"Just do it!" Then, more quietly, "Meitantei, can I count on you?" Against Saguru's shoulder, a small, fierce nod. "All right. Tantei-san, let him move freely."

That much, Saguru could do. As long as it wasn't letting the cub go, or dropping him...

"Meitantei! Soccer ball." Edogawa twisted. and something rubbery popped and hissed near Saguru's heart. Telltale black and white flashed in Saguru's peripheral vision, even as something began to whir near his stomach, sparks flying. "The topmost right balcony." _Best vantage point. Only vantage point for the entire room. But how is he supposed to hit anything there--?_

"Tantei-san!" The entrance to the staircase loomed ahead, doors cracked open already, as if they were expected. "When we hit the doors, toss Conan up!" Black fury flared across Saguru's vision. " _I will catch him you territorial idiot!_ "

The tang of blood. His claws were out, the right sheathed deeply in flesh -- Kid's flesh, Kid's blood, _how dare he-- the cub--_ Saguru's left claws had tangled only in fabric, the boy's jacket.

"Do it," Edogawa ordered.

They hit the doors.

Saguru's arm snapped up and out. Claws sheathed, and the boy's weight flung free.

Red sparked across Saguru's vision. A laser sight, a split second for the gunman to identify them before reacting... and something boomed over their heads. It rocketed across the ceiling, barely visible except for the flash of motion, and hit a dark figure on the balcony with a pained grunt.

The laser sight vanished. A faint jerk on Saguru's right hand -- added weight, Edogawa caught safely -- and Kid entangled their hands and pulled.

Something clattered atop the wide stone railing. "My skateboard!"

"Up!"

Saguru couldn't help but follow, leaping onto the skateboard with Kid firmly plastered against his back. ( _What am I doing?!_ ) They all but flew down the bannister as if surfing, too fast to catch, nothing more than the flash of shocked faces ( _who is the enemy?_ ) to either side and Nakamori's bellowing over it all.

Kid shifted against his back, one leg sliding between Saguru's, and the skateboard clicked underfoot. Jets whirred up to an hypersonic screech that sent Saguru's ears flattening in a spear of white-hot pain.

Then wood crashed beneath the board. The front door, Saguru realized, garden air and screaming crowd and flashing cameras, reporters yelling-- _It's Kid! It's Kid! And Hakuba Saguru who looks injured!_ \-- before the skateboard hit the ground and bounced.

And then it was pink smoke everywhere. Metal clanged, gravity vanished, and everything went dark ( _splash!_ ) and rot-stinking-wet.

Chains rattled above with a final-sounding thunk, and Saguru opened his eyes to discover himself sprawled in ankle-deep water, Kid still on his back and Edogawa a small, struggling weight between them.

"Hup!" Kid's weight vanished. "Got your buckle!"

Saguru managed to untangle himself from Edogawa just in time to see the white cape flicker into a pipe set low into the wall.

"Goddammit!" he growled in tandem with the boy, and they bolted in hot pursuit.

-0-0-0

"Kill the fucking Kid," Saguru snarled under his breath as he splashed along the tunnels. "Pounce on him and _shake_ him. By the _scruff_." And then sit on him and make him clean and bandage everything.

Saguru's ears hurt. Blood had dripped into his eyes and was drying in his hair in sticky clots. His clothes were soaked from cuff to knee, and up to his elbow, and down through his socks, with water he wouldn't ordinarily have touched except with a pipette, to drip onto a microscope plate and examine for microbes.

The cub, at least, had a flashlight in his watch and the sense to not whine about being tired, being lost, being trapped because _the damnable Kid had chained shut every single manhole they'd found over the past five kilometers_ , leading them in circles in the maze of storm drains.

Which was probably the only reason they hadn't been chased down here and shot at again.

Damn the Kid's foresight.

"Ne, Hakuba-san. Don't you think it's strange?"

"Many things are," Saguru muttered. Like Edogawa himself. "What in particular are you referring to this time?"

Edogawa's glasses flashed in the dim light. "How someone was shooting at Kid, after a note targeting a girl instead of a gem."

"Well." Yet another reason to throttle Kid and sit on him: the manhole chains prevented Saguru from going back to the Suzuki estate and interrogating the shooter. People got very cooperative when faced with an icy demeanor and lashing tail, even without the fangs and claws readily apparent. "The note itself was most likely someone with a grudge towards the Suzuki zaibatsu." Money made enemies. And Saguru had the feeling that talking about people targeting Kid -- instead of pretending to be well and truly duped -- would get him on the convenient accident list.

"But Kid wasn't dressed like Sonoko-neesan on the stairs," Edogawa pressed.

"I doubt that the shooter would've had the time to recognize that before firing," Saguru replied flatly. "To recognize me, yes, since I was in the lead. So, since I'd run off with Suzuki-san in tow..."

"Oh." Edogawa fell scornfully quiet.

Saguru's tail lashed. _Oh, for..._

It wasn't that he required a child's good opinion. But to be immediately dismissed as an idiot, by someone Kaito respected... by the one person who'd been _correct_ at Lavender Mansion, the person who'd gone alone to face Senma in Sunset Mansion, uncertain whether or not she was armed or if the police would arrive in time...

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "At least, that is what I will inform the police," he admitted quietly. "Since it is _clearly_ the most fitting explanation." Those oversized, too-flat lenses flashed again in the corner of his vision, a flicker of movement that made Saguru's fingers twitch, claws prickling. "Any other conclusion is not one that most people would wish me to entertain in their presence."

"Try me."

"I am not in the habit of terrorizing children." He didn't even need to see the withering glare for something small to go tight and cold in the pit of his stomach.

Well then.

Saguru let his ears flatten, pain lancing over his scalp ( _it could've been Kaito, a bead of laser light on his temple_ ) and deep into his heart, where it churned and rumbled in his chest. The sound was very nearly subliminal, buzzing through his molars and into his nose and eyes -- vision narrowing and tunneling red-black, scents going stark as if a photograph was thrown into high relief, his teeth sharp and wet and cold as they were bared, as his mouth stretched too wide.

And then it wasn't.

"Kid. Is. MINE."

The faint flare of alarm scraped just a little at the rising fury ( _of course the cub was scared, enemies somewhere and impressively angry protector--_ ), but the burst of laughter that came hard on its heels cut through Saguru's anger like a bucket of cold water to the face.

Edogawa was bent over, hands caught on his own knees, howling his damned little head off so hard Saguru could smell the faintest prickle of tears. "You--" he gasped, "--sound... like... Hattori!"

_HATTORI?!_

"Only over Kid! Instead of me!" Edogawa managed to get out.

"I certainly hope not!" Saguru blurted, before it quite registered that Edogawa had to think Saguru meant it platonically... although even then, it did not bode well if Edogawa interpreted 'my prey' the same way he did 'my cub', relating it to that-hothead-Hattori with no differentiation.

Oh dear.

"... You _can_ tell the difference between 'my prey' and 'my--" Too few people knew the correct term, "--pack', right?"

Edogawa heaved one shuddering, calming breath. "Mostly from context," he answered, wiping his eyes with one hand. "I'm pretty sure Hattori's not going to bite me."

"I am _not_ going to bite Kid."

"Well, obviously," Edogawa shot back. "Even if you were the type, the way you hauled us out... of... there..." He paused, eyes going sharp. "Is there a third option for 'mine'?"

Sometimes, Saguru could really hate Edogawa's dismayingly mature observation skills.

"Territory."

"That's not people."

"I am aware of that. Are _you_ aware that my standing within the department is such that I cannot weather many rumors? Particularly after today's antics?" Saguru gave Edogawa a level, flat-eared ( _ow_ ) stare. "I _will_ capture Kaitou Kid someday. My... instinctive opinions... will, at most, prevent me from doing him any injury in said capturing."

"... I suppose so," Edogawa said dubiously. But before Saguru could argue (and, he suspected, dig himself deeper into the proverbial hole), a rattling clang echoed through the darkness up ahead. A waft of fresh air carried familiar shouting and the heavy tang of Nakamori's preferred brand of cigars.

It was a reprieve, as little as Saguru was looking forward to explaining how Kid had used his need to protect a cub to assist in his escape (which was true enough, for all that it was only half the story).

He could still feel the boy's all-too-knowing gaze weighing heavily on him the entire way out.

-0-0-0

Saguru quite loathed the interrogation rooms. Stark, windowless little rooms were bad enough, but they'd also been designed to be soundproof, which blocked all the scents that seeped into most rooms under the door. He only loathed them more when he was filthy, hurting, and being questioned.

(He'd known this was going to go very badly from the instant he was pointed at Interrogation instead of Nakamori's office. _Politics_ , ugh. But all he had to do was hold out until either his father or Nakamori tracked him down, and hopefully he'd figure out which officer in the several ranks between them had the axe to grind. Maybe he'd even figure out if it was about being gaijin, hanyou, his father's son, or an outside consultant.)

The officer across the table tapped a folder on the surface, papers rustle-tapping within. "Let's try this again, Hakuba- _kun_." The suffix was not said with any semblence of politeness. "When you helped Kid escape--"

"When Kid used my instincts to protect a child as cover for his escape," Saguru couldn't help but correct. Again. "But please, go on."

Officer Morita ground his teeth. "When did you first suspect Suzuki Sonoko was the Kaitou Kid in disguise?"

Saguru resisted the urge to bare his right back. "When the notice appeared in the papers," he replied evenly, "as noted in my pre-heist analyses. Kaitou Kid does not commit kidnappings, after all."

"Oh? Not when you stood within scenting distance of the disguised Kid?"

The question itself wasn't illegal -- Saguru had yet to hear of it being taken to court -- but answering it _was_. Any affirmation would rule the interrogation invalid, with the onus placed upon Saguru for answering in violation of the law, while a negation could very easily be twisted into obstruction of justice. And sidestepping it, calling the officer out on entrapment, was as good as self-incrimination given the circumstances. _Damn._

Saguru leaned back, laced his fingers together (and if he straightened them just enough that the cleaner, paler base of his claws flashed as he did so... it couldn't possibly be a threat, just look how full humans had to do the same), and watched Morita in perfect, unruffled silence. _We are quite done here._

Morita's eyes narrowed, and his body language shifted subtly. _Not until you answer the question and incriminate yourself, we're not._

Hm. Morita was low-ranking enough that he could not be carrying this as a personal vendetta. He could _have_ a personal vendetta -- in fact, it was very likely that he'd been tapped for this because of some grudge -- but he did not have the rank to separate Saguru from the Task Force and commandeer an interrogation room. Unfortunately, he was also low-ranking enough that easily half a dozen more senior officers could be behind this. Not his direct senior, perhaps, and likely not someone much higher than Nakamori. Still, there were a great number of men near Nakamori's rank who could hate Nakamori's fame or his own, who could hate being passed over for a position on the Task Force while some upstart teenage daddy's-boy got in... so many reasons, _too_ many reasons...

Reasons which, as the door opened in complete violation of police procedure, Saguru was not going to have time to contemplate for a while.

"Hey guys, mind if we barge in?" Kaito asked cheerfully, a first aid kit under one arm and Aoko in his wake.

"Look at you," she said, stepping past Kaito with a bowlful of water sloshing in her hands and a first-aid kit hanging from her arm. "They haven't even treated anything -- Dad's going to throw ten kinds of fit." The glance she hit Morita with clearly said that if she didn't have valuable wash-water to carry, she'd be throwing twenty kinds of said fit and mopping the floor with certain officers' faces.

"Now see here, you can't just interrupt an interrogation!"

"Aw, and here I thought we were saving your job." Kaito popped up between Aoko and Morita before he could make her spill the water. (Or get himself kicked in the face, if not rather lower. Aoko was muttering imprecations interspersed with such keywords as 'inhumane' and 'infection' and 'procedure my ass'.) Kaito's grin went sharp and dangerous. "I wonder who dislikes you enough to wash your neck for the sword instead of his own. This is, what, fifteen laws and department regulations you're breaking? And I haven't even looked at the videotape." Sparkle sparkle stabbity.

Morita blanched.

That was the last Saguru saw: Aoko stepped into and filled his field of vision, setting the bowl down on the table with a firm tap. "Hey there," she said more quietly, though still sharp and brisk.

(“There is a videotape, of course.” Kuroba was saying, lethally cheerful. “ _Highly_ illegal if there isn’t. That way lies getting entire cases thrown out of court, ne?”)

Aoko lifted and wrung out the cloth floating in the hot water. “Is it okay if I help clean that?” she asked.

“Please.” Saguru’s claws prickled at the tabletop (he could smell the faint tang of antiseptic on the dripping cloth, tail lashing in anticipation of the sting). “It’s safe enough for you.”

(“And then there’s the PR! Someone should’ve kept an eye on little Edogawa-kun, he’s out there telling aaaaaaall the reporters about how Hakuba-niichan protected him and Sonoko-neechan even though it turned out to be Kid. Who was, of course, protecting the heiress by playing decoy. So valiant, that stupid thief--”)

“None of this would’ve happened if that stupid thief hadn’t set himself up as a giant stupid target!” Aoko snapped. Kaito winced, his smile going brittle.

“Edogawa-kun’s hopping mad that he didn’t get to catch that giant stupid target,” he said anyway, pretending to not be talking to Aoko. “You should see the _live interviews_ ,” Morita grayed to the color of cafeteria oatmeal. “He’s adorable.”

Ow ow _ow_ antiseptic _ow_ \-- Saguru hissed between his fangs, and Aoko’s grip on the cloth gentled. “Adorable,” she scoffed. “How many times has that poor kid been in danger from Kid’s stupid stunts?”

“Ten,” Saguru replied before he could stop himself. Kaito pointedly did not turn that shatteringly fragile grin onto him, as he added, “At least two of which -- if one was to be scrupulously fair about it -- were a matter of both of them being endangered without placing the onus of responsibility for the situation upon either, plus four others where Kid deliberately orchestrated himself in place to protect the boy.” Saguru was not going to mention being complicit in allowing Edogawa to risk himself at Sunset Mansion. “This instance is arguably the latter. Again.”

Aoko made a sharp sound of disagreement, and went for the bandages and scissors.

“Hey, should we be talking about this now?” Kaito asked. He flapped a hand at Morita. “Shoo. Go report or something. Practice your jackboot technique.”

“ _Kuroba-kun_ ,” Saguru groaned. Kaito shot him an innocent look, as Aoko taped the last thin flap of gauze into place.

She snapped the first-aid kit shut. “He has a point.” Shoving the kit at the officer, the hollow scrape of plastic-on-wood, she smiled brightly. “But Morita-keiji would be _delighted_ to help me carry all this and escort me back to Daddy, keeping the reporters away. _Wouldn’t he._ ”

“... Yes’m.” The kit thumped hard into Morita’s arms, and Aoko took up the bowl and stained washcloths.

“ _Behave_ ,” she ordered them. Then she cast Morita a sharp look, which had the officer scrambling to hold the door open for her, and left.

The door snicked shut.

Silence. Then,

“You need to talk to her about it.”

Kaito tensed so sharply he made the desk creak. “About what?” The grin he turned on Saguru was all teeth (and very much _not_ an anthropoid’s look-how-small-they-are social bonding display).

“About why it hurts when she denigrates your idol,” Saguru replied delicately. At the tiny flinch, visible only in a gleam of light off one atrophied canine, he added, “I _have_ noticed who he reminds you of.”

“You developed telepathy and didn’t tell me?” Kaito sniffed, mocked wiping at his eyes. “I’m hurt.”

“I’ve seen recordings of your fathers’ shows.” Poor quality as they were, home videos and the lower-resolution television of ten to twenty years ago. “The stage presence has significant similarities -- I will be unsurprised if he confesses to being inspired by your father. Save, of course, for the part where we obtain a confession rather than laughter.”

“And the part where you actually catch him for that long.”

Saguru leveled an unimpressed look at him, ears flattening. _Are you not caught, then? Unofficial as it may be?_ “Kid was shot at tonight,” he said flatly. It would seem an artless segue to anyone who may overhear. “Again.”

“I noticed,” Kaito replied, as dry as Saguru’s sense of humor and as humorless as his sense of justice.

“Allow me to postulate: the shot is taken and fatal.”

The bright, cutting grin fell from Kaito’s face.

It took just three minutes, dead silent as Kaito worked through that, pained microexpressions ghosting tightly in the corners of his eyes and mouth and flickering tension along his jaw, before Kaito let his face twist like he’d just bitten into an under-ripe lemon. Aoko did not deserve to find out that way. “You rotten bastard.”

“I could argue likewise.”

“You could also butt out, but oops, here I’ve gone and used up all my luck in other ventures!” His voice started edging towards Kid’s more precise enunciation, the vocabulary of at least three unknown aliases picked out in different vocal registers -- a key sharpened through one phrase, flattened in another, tone hollowing ever-so-slightly. He wrenched his voice back into place with a faint cough that sounded more like a growl, and the hair on the back of Saguru’s neck prickled. “Postulate the status quo.”

“Oxymoron,” Saguru snarled.

“Cost analysis, pros and cons, whatever you want to call it, _gods_ you’re picky!” Saguru’s ears twitched at Suzuki Sonoko’s voice thrumming under Kaito’s, but yes, he got the point -- Saguru had nightmares about ripping assailants apart, but he also had them about Kid being shot. He stayed awake nights ruminating on the possibilities, what-if Kid had dodged right instead of left, what-if the shot had been a centimeter off, what-if what-if-what-if, even all the way back to what-if he’d torn his leg off on the damned statue Saguru had chained to the museum floor all those months ago.

Aoko didn’t.

No doubt her dreams and ruminations about Kid rested strongly on the image of smashing his teeth out with her mop. Which was an image with some appeal right about now, actually. … So was pouncing and... angry scent-marking, for lack of a more polite term for it... which was something they were not far enough along in their relationship for.

“Get out.”

“Like _hell_ \--”

Saguru’s claws dug little curls of laminate up from the desktop. “If you wish to leave this station with your neck unmarked and undergarments dry, you will _get out of my sight this instant._ ”

Kaito snorted rudely. “I’d drop you before you got across the table.” He flexed his wrists, where Kid kept gas pellet dispensers, and all Saguru could think of was pinning them to the floor, blocking the release mechanism ( _wouldn’t work_ ), tendons shifting under his paws and nails barely able to scratch at his hands and then Kaito would _bite--_

 _“Out!_ ” he roared.

“Sheesh.” Kaito stuck out his tongue ( _did NOT help_ ) and turned his back on Saguru (!!), spine feline-stiff with offense, then raised a hand in false nonchalance. “I’m going, I’m going, don’t get your panties in a bunch.”

“ _I do not wear--!_ ” Saguru bit off the rest of the sentence. _Don’t let yourself get sidetracked._ “Speak. To. Aoko.”

“Bite me.”

“Some other time.” Kaito’s hand landed on the knob, and Saguru finished with, “Do not forget to retrieve the tape.”

-0-0-0  
  
It was several hours before Saguru was free to go home, and at that point he could only crash upon his bed and sleep.  Twelve hours later, though, freshly bathed and fed and wearing a new-laundered suit, he returned to the station for his weekend shift.  
  
He’d barely gotten off the elevator -- barely had a chance to recognize the commiserating looks -- before someone clapped him on the shoulder.  “Man, rough luck,” Baisho-keiji said, all bright eyes and wide smile.  “Better luck next time!” he called over his shoulder as he brushed past Saguru into the elevator.  
  
Saguru blinked at the closing doors, then turned to the open desks of the Task Force.  His own small desk was littered with a strange mix of items -- cards and vending-machine trinkets, a small pile of yen, the gold star he’d be expected to put next to his name on the ‘Kid Stole My Face’ scoreboard, the black plastic trophy for the current holder of the ‘Biggest Public Mistake’ title...  
  
He shouldn’t have this mix of objects.  Half of them required missing a heist and the other half required his presence there.  
  
“Hakuba-kun!” Nakamori bellowed from his office, “Get in here!”  
  
Saguru left the minor mystery on his desk, though he took the gold star, peeling it free of its backing and pressing it into place as he passed the board next to Nakamori’s door.  Quietly, he tugged the door shut behind him and stepped up before Nakamori’s desk.  His ears flickered, then went still.  
  
Nakamori met his eyes with a level equanimity that made Saguru’s tail lash once before he got it under control.  “Hakuba-kun.”  
  
“Keibu.”  Ohhh he did not trust this false, stony calm.  
  
“You.  Are a very lucky young man.  As of--” Nakamori checked his watch, “--five minutes ago, the department has released our official statement.”  That flat, hard stare pinned Saguru again.  “In light of the fact that no member of the Task Force would ever behave so unprofessionally, and the seldom-remembered fact that Kid has an accomplice, it has been proven that you. were. not. at. the. heist.”  
  
Saguru blinked.  “... Keibu?”  
  
Nakamori’s eyes narrowed.  “You weren’t there last night.  Kid’s accomplice was very successfully disguised as you.  And somehow Morita-keiji and Koroku-keibu from Fraud have been transferred to Hokkaido.”  
  
“... I see.”  Saguru swallowed, feeling cold.  Politics.  Everything had been swept under the rug and falsified for _politics_.  
  
“Good.”  Nakamori leaned forward, hands braced on his desk.  “If this happens again, Hakuba-kun, you are off the Task Force."  _No matter what strings the higher-ups try to pull_ , he might as well have said.  “Is this clear?”  
  
“Yes sir.  Thank you sir.”  At least _something_ was incorruptible here.  “May I...?”  
  
Nakamori jerked his chin at the door.  “Get to work.”  
  
Saguru fled.  
  
The rest of the night, Task Force officers and secretaries stopped by, although they'd already dropped off the little markers of superstition that circulated around the department according to Kid's whims.  
  
"It was all a clusterfuck anyway," Hosoda told him tiredly.  "Shots fired... there was no way we could've come out of this smelling like proverbial roses.  We're just lucky no one got killed."  
  
"Why do we never remember the accomplice," Doi groused.  "And Kid's skill with prosthetics, he's kept evolving where Hollywood switched to CGI.  Better be ready to have your face pinched from now on."  
  
Two of the office ladies spent fifteen minutes hovering while Saguru took his lunch break.  "I can hardly believe he'd do this," matronly old Fujiwa said, fingertips tracing the air near Saguru's bandaged ears.  "He had to have come back later and hurt you... is this a bullet wound or a knife?"  
  
"If you wouldn't mind, please, Fujiwa-san," Saguru muttered, stifling a snarl.  
  
"Oh... oh, of course, I'm sorry."  
  
The ladies let him be after that, and a couple of hours later his shift ended.  Packing up his paperwork, his muscles aching from the need to control his tail, Saguru left.  
  
In the anonymous crowd and cooling evening air, Saguru's temper shredded slowly thinner.   Politics -- nepotism -- racist _bullshit_ \-- piling blame on Kid, Kid, _Kid_ \--  
  
He blinked back to himself on Kuroba's doorstep, and winced.  He hadn't meant to come here.  
  
The porch light clicked on before Saguru could slink away.  
  
"Hakuba-kun."  
  
Kuroba looked like he'd only barely woken up.  His eyes were heavy, hair curling in wild tufts worse than Saguru had ever seen.  Saguru could see the imprint of pillow wrinkles fading on Kuroba's left cheek.  (He suddenly wanted to trace the faint reddened line, thumb rubbing it out and leaving only unmarked flesh...)  
  
"I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to wake you," Saguru said.  
  
"Huh.  Apologies."  He'd said it neutrally, but something in Kuroba's eyes thawed, just enough that Saguru realized they'd been cool in the first place.  Kuroba smirked, crossed his arms and leaned against the doorjamb, and continued, "Sorry just for waking me?"  
  
"...Yes?"  Though Kuroba seemed to be implying there was a lot more Saguru had to be apologizing about.  "And for arriving without an invitation?" Saguru added belatedly.  
  
Kuroba's smirk widened.  
  
Saguru sighed, letting his ears and tail droop. "Kuroba-kun, it's been a long day.  Please don't make me guess."  
  
"Yesterday," Kuroba relented.  "In the station, with the growling."  
  
Saguru stared blankly.  
  
"When you told me to get the hell out or get molested whether I liked it or not."  
  
The blood drained from Saguru's face. "That-- I didn't-- oh my god _no_ , I didn't mean it like--"  Never.  Ever.  No.  
  
"Yes you did," Kuroba replied flatly.  "I did some reading.  Another tiger youkai wouldn't have wanted to refuse."  He shoved off the doorjamb and stood aside, as clear an invitation as Saguru was probably going to get.  
  
Kuroba's home was as offbeat as the magician himself.  The genkan opened up directly into a stairwell, a full blank-walled flight up to a white door, behind which was a small living room with fairly good views of leafy saplings and streetlights.  
  
"Sit," Kuroba told him around a yawn, waving languidly at the couch.  The seat gave Saguru a good view of the kitchen, and of Kuroba padding inside and opening cupboards, pouring steaming water from a stovetop kettle into a teapot, arranging things on a tray.  
  
Kuroba returned with a more genuine edge to his grin, and set the tray down on the coffee table near Saguru's knee.  
  
The teapot was white with blue tiger stripes.  Saguru gave Kuroba a withering look, and got a bright snicker in return.  "Kaasan couldn't resist," Kuroba told him.  "The blue's for Aoko."  
  
"I figured."  
  
"So."  Kuroba handed him a cup of green tea and a plate of chocolate cookies; not really proper, but somehow completely unsurprising.  "What's up?"  
  
So Saguru slowly, quietly explained how they'd cleared his name for the public.  His annoyance, his ambivalance.  He’d just gotten up into a fervent rant about the system  (because he might be benefiting but _it was still wrong_ ) when the doorbell rang.  
  
“Huh,” Kuroba murmured, glancing reluctantly away from Saguru.  “I’m popular tonight.  Hold that thought?”  
  
“Of course,” Saguru replied.  (Lying, he wanted to keep Kuroba all to himself, but it would be okay if that was Aoko at the door… yes, that would be perfect if she was…)  He watched Kuroba leave (was it his imagination or was… yes, Kuroba had changed his walk to sway his hips, and done it purposely if the wink cast over his shoulder was any indication).  
  
A moment later…  
  
“ _Aunt Chris!_ ” Kuroba cheered in thickly-accented English.  
  
A woman’s voice answered, bright and teasing, in a definite American cadence.  “—been so long since I’ve stopped by,” the words floated up, preceding the approaching pair.  Saguru knew that voice, but who…?  “So I thought to myself, Chris, darling, as long as you’re in Tokyo—oh!”  
  
Long blonde curls, femme fatale eyes, a figure that you didn’t get off the silver screen… Saguru stood quickly and bowed to Chris Vinyard, the American actress.  
  
Her happy-satisfied scent doubled, making Saguru’s nose twitch, and she looked between him and Kuroba ostentatiously.   “Oh, I see.  Kai-kun, am I interrupting a _date_?”  Saguru sputtered, because _no_ except maybe _yes_ , but she laughed and leaned over Kaito to say, _sotto voce_ , “I can’t fault your taste.  You were planning to do this safely, though, right?”  
  
Oh god.  She was one of _those_ relatives.  
  
Kuroba’s eyes flicked over Saguru, quick enough that Saguru almost missed how low the glance was aimed.  “Don’t worry, Auntie,” he replied in the same not-surreptitious-at-all volume, “I always leave all the dangerous bits to my stunt double.”  
  
And of course Kuroba was one of those people who encouraged that kind of relative.  And Saguru was not having twin fantasy thoughts.  No.  Bad.  (Aoko’s hair was quite dark and wild though—No.)  
  
“Anyway!  What brings you by, Aunt Chris?” Kuroba asked, fussing her into a seat on the couch and filling another teacup.  
  
“Work, always work,” Ms. Vinyard replied.  Something in her amusement-scent went… oddly sly, though her next words remained light and airy.  “Just had to arrange something for one of my favorite extras.  Got herself all tangled up in a mess, blah blah boring backstage drama, but she’s too cute to lose over a couple of petty jealousies.  But enough about me, what about you?  What have you been up to, other than sneaking a cute boyfriend into your house?”  
  
“Ms. Vinyard, I’m really not…”  
  
“What, is my little Kai-kun not attractive enough?”  Ms. Vinyard threw her arms around Kuroba, pressing him to her bust and tipping his chin up to catch the light better.  Kuroba made a wet-eyed pouty face, completely hamming it up, the unhelpful brat.  
  
“Ms. Vinyard—“  
  
“Chris.”  
  
“…. Chris-san.  I’m sure this is all quite amusing, but I’m really not going to follow a romantic comedy script.  I’m fully aware that you’re trying to maneuver me into a clumsy and unintended admission of attraction.”  Saguru drew himself up, chin and tail high, and said, “Any such admission, I’d prefer to make in full control of my faculties.  Which is to say, that I will be asking Kuroba-kun out on a date someday, preferably at some point when we are familiar enough with each other to be using personal names, and,” he could feel his ears twitching as his face grew warm, “the outcome of said dating – should he agree to do so – will hopefully, eventually, after a sufficient amount of time has passed, require a private room and prophylactics.  
  
“However, that potential event is not occurring today.”  
  
Ms. Vinyard stared.  Then… “You’re no fun,” she said, pouting.  “But you are _definitely_ a keeper.  Kaito-kun—“  
  
“I _know_ ,” Kuroba replied gleefully, starry eyes pinned to Saguru.  “Isn’t he romantic?”  
  
Saguru felt his face flush burningly hot.  “It doesn’t count as romantic until I do ask you out.  Which I haven’t yet.”  As Kuroba opened his mouth, Saguru firmly added, “And I won’t with such an overly interested audience, begging your pardon Ms. Vin—Chris-san.”  Nor would he until he could invite Aoko as well, which was an entirely separate discussion they all needed to have.  
  
“Fine, fine, new subject.”  The glint in Ms. Vinyard’s eyes was almost exactly a match to Kuroba’s just before the class wound up a meter deep in confetti and tinsel.  “Would it be terribly gauche to discuss the Kid heist the other night?” she asked guilelessly, ingenue eyes batting up at Saguru.  “Because Kaitou Kid is soooo much fun to watch, I love his tricks.”  
  
Saguru buried his face in his hands.


	3. And What Shoulder, And What Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you haven't read the Dec. 6 2013 revision of Ch. 2, best do that before starting Ch. 3.
> 
> Where does Aoko store her mop? No one knows. (Koizumi might.)

Saguru woke late the next morning with the peculiar, hollowed-out feeling that he'd just jumped off a cliff and it was _glorious_.  Or it would be until he hit bottom, anyway.  
  
But he'd said... and to _Kuroba_ , in semi-public... and he hadn't smelled any alarm off the thief at _all_.  
  
He rolled onto his stomach and let his tail curve up over his back, flicking at the tag of his sleep shirt as he rumbled happily deep in his chest.  No alarm at all, none!  Even if it was just that Kuroba had been distracted, that meant that Kuroba trusted him enough to not pay attention.  This was good.  This was a no-lose situation.  This was--  
  
His ears pricked up and twinged with pain.  
  
\-- this was great until the next time Kuroba got shot at.  
  
Saguru's rumbling cut off into silence, and his tail slowed to a stop.  
  
Damn his brain.  Couldn't he enjoy his prospects in peace?  Just this once?  But no, he had to wallow in his painfully excellent memory and--  
  
RRGH.  He'd just hit the proverbial bottom.  
  
Saguru could not put up with himself right now. He got up, dressed quickly, and set out for Hakuba Labs.  A day at his grandfather's would soothe his ruffled fur.  
  
As soon as he passed the front gate, a heavy, infuriatingly musky arm fell heavily across his shoulders and tugged him to stumble a couple steps downwind. “Yanno,” came a familiar Osakan drawl, and Saguru snapped his head around to face Hattori Heiji, green eyes glinting under the brim of his hideously informal baseball cap. “It’s not that I ain’t pretty used to Kudo--” ( _Edogawa_ , Saguru mentally translated; why did this temperamental idiot have such a stupid quirk anyway?) “--trippin’ over this kinda shit every day. With ‘r without me, even.” The arm tightened, thick claws prickling through the layers of fabric over Saguru’s pectorals. “But see, there’s this thing about knowin’ exactly how badass I am--”  
  
 _Not much_ , Saguru thought with a snort. _I could take two of you_.  
  
Hattori growled. _You just keep thinking that, you overgrown tea-n-crumpet pansyass Brit._ The nonverbal translation was a little difficult at an Osakan pace when Saguru was this tired. “-- and exactly how badass he is fer all that he’s a pint-sized squirt, and just how much I can count on alla his buddies -- ‘r not -- fer backup when I ain’t there... and then there’s not knowin’ a damn thing about YOU. Except fer how much of a stuck-up ponce ya are.” Hattori leaned in close, nose-to-nose, eyes blazing and grin drawn back from gleaming fangs. “ _Let’s chat_.”  
  
Lovely. A dominance display. ( _The memory of high-pitched, howling laughter, ringing off close barrel-vaulted concrete. “You sound like Hattori!” gasped between ringing peals. “Only over Kid instead of me!”_ ) Correction, a territorial display.  
  
“Kindly remove your grubby paws from my person,” Saguru drawled. “Or I will remove them myself and return them via your anus.”  
  
“No ya won’t, ya don’t like me that much.”  
  
It took a disgracefully long full second to parse the entendre. “Must you really?” Saguru asked, pinching the bridge of his nose.  
  
“Well, _yeah_ ,” Hattori said, smirking. One finger tipped the brim of his hat up a bit. “I got the instincts, good ‘n strong, same as you. Probably better, even. Unless you wouldn’t come down hard on whatever jerk was potential backup fer one of yer best buds?”  
  
“Hm. Seeing as how my... ‘best buds’... are fairly capable of taking care of themselves...” Not to mention that Kid was about as likely to accept assistance as he was to dive voluntarily into a fishmonger’s wares. (He would not show Hattori, of all people, how much that hurt.)  
  
Saguru tore Hattori’s hand from his chest, ducked under the encircling arm, and twisted up behind the other hanyou’s back. One foot at the ankle, grab the other wrist, and shove forward, and he smashed Hattori flat on his face on the sidewalk. “And so am I. So, no. I would not need to ‘come down hard’ on ‘whatever jerk’. Does this address your concerns?”  
  
He could see the muscles at the back of Hattori’s jaw tighten with a wide grin, even as a quiet, low vibration began under Saguru’s fingers, deep in Hattori’s chest. “It’s a start,” Hattori rumbled, in the instant before he broke free. And the fight was on.  
  
It wasn’t really like a spar to judge capabilities, despite what Hattori had said. Saguru knew it from the first tackle, though not in so many words. He could see the same awareness in Hattori’s slit-pupiled eyes, could all but read the same mantra emblazoned in every blunted clawing, every clash of teeth in flaring fabric, hear it in Hattori’s snarls and the thrum of his own, the rush of his heartbeat in his ears.  
  
 _Shot at again._  
  
 _Shot - at - **again**._  
  
 _Shot - at - again - shot - at - again - shot - at - again--_  
  
 _WHAM!_  
  
Hattori fell out of Saguru’s sight, just in time for Saguru to duck the mop handle aiming straight at his head. An instant later, the soft end hit the nape of his neck, pinning him to the sidewalk next to a dazedly-growling Hattori.  
  
“What do you two think you’re doing?!” Aoko yelled.  
  
 _That should be obvious_ , Saguru thought. “Committing crass public displays of male tiger hanyou stupidity,” he admitted readily. “My deepest apologies, Nakamori-san.”  
  
“Whipped,” Hattori muttered, smirking. The mop flipped off Saguru’s neck and snapped down hard across Hattori’s shoulders. “OW!”  
  
“I strongly suggest you apologize to the young lady as well, Hattori-san,” Saguru said, slowly pushing himself up. When the mop didn’t make any menacing twitches towards him, he rolled to his feet and dusted himself off. “Nakamori-san, Hattori-san here is a close friend of Edogawa-kun’s. He is understandably upset about the other night, and I’m afraid we took it out upon each other.”  
  
Aoko huffed. “Boys!”  
  
Very familiar laughter answered that. “Aoko-keibu!” Saguru spun to see Kuroba jogging entirely too cheerfully towards them. “What terrible lowlife have you mopped up this time?” the thief asked.  
  
“ _Get her offa me_.”  
  
Kuroba’s eyebrows shot straight up. “A real varmint indeed,” he drawled, in a terrible mix of Hokkaido Japanese and spaghetti-western English. “Thar ain’t enough room in this here town for the both of ya... and we’ve already got our white-hatted hanyou hero.”  
  
As if Kuroba didn’t know damn well exactly who was growling on the ground at the end of Aoko’s mop. “Kuroba-kun,” Saguru said, pinching the bridge of his nose, “Hattori-san is a fellow detective. Much as I’m loathe to admit it.”  
  
“Why? Some territory thing? Two proverbial tomcats in a sack?” Kuroba asked, circling around to crouch in Hattori’s field of vision.  
  
“Pretty much,” Saguru answered, as Hattori’s eyes went wide. Hattori huffed sharply a couple of times as if trying to sneeze, and shook his head violently. “Though it’s as much personal as professional. I find him to be an uncouth hothead, and--” he added more loudly, before Hattori could speak, “-- _his_ opinion of me is unfit to say before a lady.”  
  
Hattori growled, then tried to sneeze again. Kuroba tilted his head. “What’s he doing?”  
  
“Attempting to get your scent.”  
  
Kuroba twitched. “Rude!” Saguru could all too easily imagine the effort it took for Kuroba not to run screaming.  
  
Hattori didn’t even try to look abashed. “Sorry,” he said, not very sincerely. “You look really freakily like my best friend, so I was wonderin’ if you smelled anything like him too. Ya don’t, by the way. I think.”  
  
“Nice to know I’m unique.” Kuroba turned a toothy grin on Saguru, one which practically begged for a snarky reply. Saguru opened his mouth to deliver -- far be it from him to disappoint Kuroba-kun, after all -- when Hattori sprawled himself noisily and ostentatiously across the sidewalk at their feet.  
  
“Don’t mind me,” he drawled. “It’s nice down here, sidewalk’s warm and I’ve got sunbeams and a floor show. Also still have a mop on my head. Not that I mind, I love the stink of bleach in the morning. Ain’t like my favorite pint-sized buddy’s gonna notice I’m missing soon, neither...”  
  
“ _Ohmygosh I am so sorry_.” Aoko nearly dropped the mop in her haste to get it away, hiding it behind her back. “I guess I’m just so used to Kaito-kun disappearing out from under -- I mean when he pretends to let me -- I -- _arrgh_.”  
  
Saguru felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. As Aoko huffed and muttered and smoothed her hair, and Hattori stood and dusted himself off, he stepped between them with a tiny half-bow. “Nakamori Aoko, Hattori Heiji, Kuroba Kaito. Nakamori-chan is the daughter of Nakamori-keibu of the Kaitou Kid Task Force; Hattori-san is the son of the Osaka police chief and an adequate detective in his own right--” (“Adequate?!”) “-- and Kuroba-kun is a skilled magician and penance for my sins.”  
  
“Aw, you know you love me.”  
  
Saguru didn’t deign to validate that with a response.  “If you will excuse us, Hattori-san. I believe you have left your charge with only minimal backup?”  
  
Hattori smirked. “Ya clearly ain’t met either Mouri.” (“Well, actually--”) “But yeah, I kinda did.”  
  
“Mightn’t you best be returning post-haste to relieve that situation?”  
  
“Now why would I be wantin’ ta do that?” Hattori drawled, teeth gleaming in his dark-striped face. “An’ after I came all this way ta visit, too.”  
  
Aoko beamed at this, effectively stopping any male protest in its tracks. “We could certainly show you around, Hattori-san,” she said, pointedly cheerful and polite. “In fact, we’d be delighted to. If Saguru-kun or Kaito have any ideas?” Her tone hinted heavily that ‘macho tiger dominance fights’ were not acceptable ideas.  
  
Saguru stared at her, at a complete loss. Then he glanced sidelong at Kuroba, only to discover the magician glancing back at him with the same look.  
  
“Er...” Kuroba managed.  
  
“Or,” Aoko went on, “we could go with Hattori-san to pick up that nice Edogawa boy.” Alarm pheromones flooded Saguru’s nostrils, albeit tinged with an entirely too appealing edge of anticipation. “I’m sure he could use a treat after last night.”  
  
Oh no. No, no, no... an afternoon with _Hattori_? And the unnervingly insightful Edogawa Conan? And _Kuroba_? It would be madness, utter madness.  
  
Saguru glanced over once more. Kuroba looked like a deer in headlights. Or a deer who’d just spotted a tiger bearing down on him, which might be more apropos, except that the look didn’t make Saguru hungry in quite that way....  
  
Saguru’s tail flicked once. Twice.  
  
“That sounds like a lovely idea, Aoko-san,” he managed. Kuroba shot him a more dire look, but the pheromones went awash with an entirely different story. Even suffering an afternoon with Hattori would be worth it, to keep the scent of Kaitou Kid High On Adrenaline in the air. “Let’s do that.”  
  
He was probably going to regret this, but at the moment he really couldn't be arsed to care.  
  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
  
He was right.  
  
After some four hours making the rounds of park, arcade, lunch, and window-shopping -- all done after fetching Edogawa from Beika -- Saguru begged off a moment for the toilet.  And to get a few minutes to center himself, because for some reason Edogawa was grating on his nerves like the boy had never managed before.  
  
It wasn't because of the near-electric interest sizzling between him and Kuroba.  No.  That would be eminently silly.  Edogawa-kun simply _had_ to be fascinated at Kuroba's resemblence to the boy's missing cousin-or-mentor-or-hero (Saguru was not quite clear on the relationship between Edogawa Conan and Kudou Shin'ichi, but he knew there was one).  And Kuroba, of course, was a consummate performer and could hardly help but perform for his unwitting tiniest professional rival.  
  
But good god could they quit with the... the platonic _eye-fucking_ , Saguru had no better term for it... at least in the presence of several interested parties?  Only the complete lack of sexual edge on either part (thank god) was allowing Saguru to keep his composure.  It was creepy, was what it was.  That sort of behavior belonged in the surreal hours of Kid heists, when no social convention was safe and Edogawa-kun made no pretense of being a normal child.  
  
Perhaps he should just think of this outing as the prelude to another heist.  Kid would, after all, schedule another shortly enough.  
  
He exhaled long and slow, flushed the toilet, and left the stall feeling far readier to face a few more hours of the Kid-and-Edogawa Show.   
  
Hattori was leaning against the sinks, smirking like the happiest of internet meme cats.  "Sooooo," the other tiger purred.  "Both of 'em, huh?"  
  
"I knew I was going to regret agreeing to invite you," Saguru muttered around his handkerchief, turning on the faucet.  Though truth be told, he hadn't even considered how easily Hattori would pick up on his attraction to both Aoko and Kuroba once the scent of bleach cleared from his nose.  
  
"Uh huh, but seriously, both of 'em?  Ya pervy bastard," Hattori said admiringly.  "I knew there had ta be more to you than being a stuck-up snob.  Kudou is gonna flip his shit--"  
  
Saguru's growl echoed like twenty tigers packed into the tiny space. "Don't you _dare_ breathe a word to Kudou," Saguru hissed.  "I don't even _know_ the man."  
  
"Okay, okay, geez, get off the prude stick."  Hattori held up both hands in surrender, palms down and fingers curled under to hamper his claws.  He smelled amused enough that Saguru nearly smacked him anyway.  "Seriously though.  How ya gonna even get both?"  
  
"Realistically, I'm not," Saguru snapped, looking away.  
  
... It was really quite difficult to keep his pads and claws clean.  He should wash a second time.  And ignore how his ears were telegraphing his emotions with every flick.  It wasn't as if Hattori couldn't smell it anyway.  
  
"Well yeah, duh, obviously.  Chances of a one-night-stand threesome are like one in ten or some other real low bullshit number I just pulled outta nowhere.  Chances of a stable poly thing are 'call the networks we got ourselves a reality show' levels of unlikely."  ("Yes, thank you," Saguru muttered, heart heavy at the reminder.)  "But we're just talking plans--"  
  
"No we are not."  
  
"-- _talking plans_ , not sure things.  Become one with the idealism and spill."  
  
Saguru sighed, and began drying his hands.  "There are other considerations at play, here, Hattori.  None of which I have leave to explain to you."  
  
"Like the fact that her dad is your boss?" Hattori asked wryly.  "Or," his voice hardened, "the fact that he's covered in traces of one of the FBI's most-wanted killers?"  
  
"He--" Saguru began sharply, automatically, before the word fully registered.  Killer.  Not criminal.  "--wait, what?"  
  
"Not him," Hattori said.  "A woman.  Not his mom, probably not a relative at all."  
  
"What?" Saguru repeated, the word rasping in his tightened throat.  
  
Green eyes met his, provoking and empathic alike.  "Ya need ta know," Hattori said, equally quiet.  "She might be watching him, or protecting him... or keeping him as a decoy."  
  
Decoy.  Kuroba's stunning resemblence to... "Kudou Shin'ichi."  Who'd been missing for over a year.  "And she's..."  There was only one woman whose scent could be strong enough to be more than a passing presence on Kuroba's skin today.  But honestly, a second-generation Hollywood celebrity having the time and unrecognizability to be a mass murderer?  It didn't make sense.  Saguru faltered.  "She would be...?"  
  
" _Could_ be anyone," Hattori replied.  "Disguise artist.  Most I've been around her, I spent thinkin' this guy had a very handsy girlfriend, not _was_ a..." his hands outlined a markedly voluptuous figure.  "An' then 'he' shot a six-year-old at point-blank range."  Saguru's throat closed entirely.  "Or would've, if the kid hadn't proved to be the wrong one at the last second."  
  
Good god.  "I see."  
  
There weren't that many six- (now seven-) year-olds of Hattori's acquaintance.  Certainly none who'd even register on an assassin's radar, none who'd be capable of the disguise necessary to fool a professional at that lack of distance for even the few seconds it took to draw a gun.  
  
None except Edogawa.  
  
Saguru's claws scraped against the porcelain sink.   
  
"You didn't hear it, you don't know it, it ain't crossed yer mind and the only scents on him today are you 'n Nakamori-nee."  Hattori's expression went sardonically pious.  "All we been talkin' about is romantic gossip, ya great big stonewallin' snob."  
  
Saguru swallowed.  "Uncouth busybody."  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
Aoko took one look at them when they returned and nearly toppled her chair bolting upright.  "What did you _say_ to him?" she asked Hattori, eyes pinned to Saguru.  
  
"Nothing of particular import," Saguru replied with as much composure as he could bring to bear.  It wasn't much.  "A number of impertinent questions.  The usual needling on topics that are _none of his business_ ," he finished with a sharp glance Hattori's way.  
  
Kuroba grinned.  "All the most interesting ones, then?"  
  
Hattori matched Kuroba's grin with one considerably more sharp-toothed.  "Haven't hit on 'em all yet, but pretty much, yeah."  Leaning in heavily on Saguru's shoulder, he mock-whispered, "Didja know he's got a _type_?"  
  
Kuroba's eyes widened, but before he could answer, Saguru did.  "What I said was, 'as broadly as the term can be defined, everyone has a type,' and that I had no intention of delineating mine for his gratification."  He paused.  "Though I suppose it would be no hardship to admit to a preference for 'living and consenting'."  
  
"What's that mean?" Edogawa asked, all wide eyes despite the scent of embarrassment wafting about him.  
  
"Nothing, sweetie," Aoko said, her eyes promising dire consequences should any of them dare to explain.  
  
Hattori made a show of ducking away submissively, arms up and shoulders hunched.  "So yeah uh huh we gotta get moving," he said, half-laughter and all grins.  Only his belly was protected, human-style, and Saguru knew that the submission was entirely false... even before Hattori bumped his temple against Edogawa's and hissed, " _Move it Conan I'll tell you later_ ," in a stage whisper.  
  
"You--!"  
  
"See you later Nakamori-nee!  Bye Hakuba-han, Kuroba-han!"  And Hattori grabbed the child's hand and all but ran into the crowds.  
  
Aoko set her hands on her hips and huffed.  "That boy!"  
  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
She really should've said 'those boys', Saguru thought late that evening, when he discovered Edogawa on his doorstep.  
  
This particular aggravation looked and smelled like he was ready to bolt (or start punting soccer balls about) should Saguru so much as twitch wrong, the child's small body nearly vibrating with tension and those overintelligent blue eyes narrowed at him.  
  
 _Flat lenses_ , Saguru observed, and then he nearly kicked himself, because (considering the assassin) of course Edogawa Conan was always in disguise.  And therefore, not named Edogawa Conan.  As he should've deduced long before the boy wound up at Saguru's house.  
  
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "I am a piss-poor excuse for a detective," he muttered, stepping aside.  "Come in, then."  
  
What else had he been ignoring while fixated on Kid? he wondered as Edogawa sidled warily inside, pausing at the edge of the genkan.  
  
"Baaya will not take us to task for Western customs," he told the boy absently, stepping up into the corridor with his shoes on.  "As long as we limit it to the front hallway and parlor."  And he led Edogawa into the house, his mind racing.  
  
If Edogawa Conan had nearly been shot point-blank by the assassin, then he had to have seen her... but a disguise might've mitigated that.  If Edogawa had not been shot because of a case of mistaken identity, then... did he know who his little doppelganger actually was?  
  
Did it matter?  
  
 _Someone_ had to make the connection between the man Hattori had thought had an overaffectionate girlfriend, and the woman who'd nearly shot Edogawa.  It had to have been Hattori.  Why else would Hattori be so certain that she'd been disguised as the man, rather than dating him?  She would've had to drop the disguise in Hattori's presence.  Or in Edogawa's presence, or both.  So one or both of them knew her face.  And Hattori could track her, since he knew her by scent.  He was even familar enough with it that he could smell her on someone else nearly a full day later.  So why were they both alive now?  
  
They opposed her enough to inform Saguru of her presence, but they somehow didn't oppose her enough for her to kill them.  Was she protecting them?  Or was she blackmailing them?  'Keep quiet or I'll kill you'?  It had to be one of the two, Saguru would know if they'd informed the police, but why would she bother with threats instead of killing them right off?  
  
Hattori had access to police files, but from what Saguru knew of Hattori Heizo, that access was minimal.  Edogawa had only the case files of a rather inept private eye; Saguru was not fool enough to presume that Mouri's amazing sleeping routine was independent of the boy's arrival.  What could she be getting from blackmailing them?  
  
On the other hand, what might she be protecting them from?  
  
His ears flattened and tail lashed, but Saguru managed to keep his claws sheathed.  "Tea?" he asked as Edogawa settled himself on the couch.  
  
"No, thanks."  
  
Saguru inclined his head as he dug into a drawer in the table between the room's wingback chairs.  Pulling out the white noise generator, he briskly checked the batteries (present), popped the casing (clean) and checked inside (no bugs or suspicious chips).  Then he closed it all back up and turned it on.  
  
When he settled into his preferred chair, laced his fingers together, and finally met Edogawa's eyes, the boy's bug-eyed expression managed to lighten his mood just enough that he didn't growl when he explained,  "All the family entertains sensitive discussion in here.  So.  Care to tell me her name?"  
  
Edogawa went the slightest bit pale.  
  
"I thought not.  Any speculations you'd care to share?"  He raised one eyebrow pointedly.  "Particularly about her interest in Kuroba?"  
  
"...You're not worried she's trying to get to you."  
  
Saguru's tail lashed hard against the chair's arm.  "I am not."  He should be, but... Kuroba was more important to him right now.  Not to mention, "I suspect she has already influenced recent events in my favor as it is," come to think of it.  "It's far too coincidental that one of her 'extras' would have 'backstage drama' that necessitated her presence in Tokyo, the same day that departmental politics has seen fit to transfer certain enemies of mine and declare my presence at the heist to be the work of Kid's accomplice."   
  
Edogawa shifted nervously, one hand creeping towards his watch.  
  
"So there is what information you likely came to elicit," Saguru finished, waving the entire notion away.  "I've no inkling whether you hoped for more.  But back to my question."  His eyes froze Edogawa in place.  "What. Is. Her. Interest. In. Kuroba."  
  
"I don't know."  Before Saguru's growl could release itself from his chest, Edogawa slumped against the cushions, one hand falling tiredly over his face and belly vulnerable.  "But," he continued as Saguru mentally slapped himself for calling that kind of body language out of a cub, "Kudou Shinichi."  
  
Exactly as Hattori had said.  "Kuroba is not Kudou."  Though the visual resemblence was disturbing.  The scent, at least, didn't match, assuming Hattori's aforementioned best friend was that Kudou.  
  
Blue glinted at him from between little fingers.  " _I_ know that," Edogawa said flatly.  " _You_ know that.  _She_ knows that."  He paused.  "However, a number of people who are of the opinion that _missing_ means _dead_..."  
  
Saguru's breath hissed slowly between his teeth.  "This opinion would be based upon witness testimony, or high hopes?"  
  
"Does it matter?"  Edogawa flashed him a pained, rueful little smile.  "All it takes is one person who'd rather have Kudou Shinichi dead either way."  
  
"Point taken."  Kudou had already had the kind of career that many veteran officers would not envy, for the sheer number of enemies it drew from the woodwork.  There'd been that tower bombing not two years ago, with the fixated architect, for example.  
  
It didn't explain how the assassin fit into the whole mess, but Saguru strongly suspected he wouldn't get another word out of Edogawa on that.  
  
He was right.


	4. What the Hammer, What the Chain?

He may not have gotten another word about the assassin, however, Saguru did manage to wrangle far worse.  Much to his dismay.  
  
And thus, the next afternoon, Saguru sat in the observation deck of a random high-rise downtown, his ears flicking rapidly, uncontrollably, around the uncomfortably too-human-shaped headset tucked awkwardly into them.  Every twitch pulled at his healing cuts, which made his tail lash over the chair's seat, which ruffled his fur the wrong way, and he was generally just not a happy tiger at all.  
  
This was not helped by the soft noise of a crowd echoing through the earbuds.  One more time, he murmured, "Are you absolutely certain of this?"  
  
" _Yes_ ," Edogawa replied, the same low murmur tinny and hollow through the speakers.  " _Just stay put_."  
  
"I could--"  
  
" _No_."  
  
Which, on the one hand, was good, because Saguru really didn't have any idea what he could do.  Not without completely discarding their goal and getting himself kicked out of the loop, at which point Edogawa would go out and do this _on his own_.  
  
The crowd noises changed ever-so-slightly, and then Edogawa called out brightly, breathlessly, " _Vinyard-sensei!!!_ "  
  
Saguru could far too easily picture the starry-eyed, adorable-little-kid look that Edogawa was turning up at the woman right now.  Brr.  
  
" _Vinyard-sensei!  Can I have your autograph?  Pleeeeease?"_  
  
_"Aw, aren't you cute_."  Chris Vinyard -- Auntie Chris, yike -- sounded almost exactly as she had at Kaito's house.  Perhaps a little more condescending, which suited Edogawa's apparent age, but otherwise exactly the same.  Whoever was impersonating the actress had to have vocal skills to outperform even Kaito's.  " _Just this once, all right?"_  
  
_"Thank you!_ "  
  
Saguru continued to listen, fingers tightly interlaced together and claws prickling at the backs of his hands, but as the exchange continued without a hint of a threat --  
  
_"The front page?  Aw, sweetie, am I your very first?"_  
  
_"Uh huh!"_  
  
_"I haven't been anyone's first for a long time!  I'm honored!"_  
  
\-- okay, no, that was just disturbing.  She couldn't do anything untoward in public, though, right?  
  
" _Thank you!  Bye bye, Vinyard-sensei!_ "  
  
Saguru waited, teeth clenched, until the noises of the street faded away, and he could hear Edogawa's steps echoing in the way peculiar to parking garages.  Then he couldn't help himself.  " _How long until she arrives?"_  
  
_"As long as it takes_ ," Edogawa replied.  " _Stay off the channel_."  
  
Well, what did he expect?  He'd given Saguru a fully functional mike with the headset.  If he'd wanted radio silence, he need not have supplied the means.  So there.  
  
For lack of anything better to do, Saguru got up and ordered tea from a nervous cashier at a nearby cafe stand, and took it back to his seat.  It was hot, and cleansingly bitter, but otherwise cheap and unremarkable.  But it gave him something to do with his hands other than claw things, and kept him off the channel as requested, and hopefully made his agitation a bit less noticeable to observers.  
  
High heels tapped over the radio, and Saguru set his styrofoam cup down before he crushed it.  
  
" _I was thinking_ ," Edogawa said, back to his normal, eeriely mature cadence.  " _Isn't it funny_."  Chris Vinyard chuffed in very feline amusement, and Edogawa continued, " _There was someone shooting at the Kaitou Kid the other night_."    
  
Vinyard fell silent.  
  
" _That's not what was funny.  Because Hakuba Saguru rescued him, and got injured rescuing him -- you can't fake that sort of bleeding or motion with prosthetics -- and then what happens_?"  A pause.  " _The official inquiry vanishes in less than twenty-four hours.  That's barely enough time to even put together all the paperwork to start an investigation, much less finish it_."  Another pause.  " _And then you turn out to be in town_."  
  
Edogawa really was inferring from pure air about this, wasn't he.  
  
_"If you'd put out the hit on Kid, he'd be dead_ ," Edogawa said flatly, and Saguru damn near shot out of his seat.  He choked on his growl, killing it in his throat, as Edogawa went on, " _A lot less publicly, too.  But your interest is in keeping him alive, isn't it_."  No answer.  " _And it's a strong enough interest to protect someone who saves him."_  
  
_"That's an interesting theory_ ," Vinyard purred airily.  " _I wonder where you're going with it?"_  
  
_"Was it really too risky to call the sniper off?_ "  
  
Call him off?  As in... Edogawa thought Vinyard, whoever was playing her, had the means to prevent the shooting?  
  
" _I find it interesting that you think all the snipers in Japan are at my beck and call_."  
  
Edogawa's withering silence was far too telling.  Moreso, though, was that as the silence stretched, the woman wasn't denying it.  Saguru felt the fur under the back of his collar start to bristle.  
  
Then, quietly, darkly, Edogawa said, " _I know what you want from me."_  
  
_"Oh?"_  
  
Saguru did not like the sound of that at ALL.  What could an assassin possibly want from a little boy?  
  
" _Am I the only one you want it from?_ "  
  
Want what?  What was Edogawa talking about?  
  
" _A secret makes a woman, a woman_ ," Vinyard replied with cold amusement, before the telltale sounds of bursting gas, running and a car door and squealing tires, supplied her escape and a cheerful call of " _Have fun at the next heist!_ "  
  
Saguru could taste blood from where he'd bitten his tongue trying to swallow back his growl.  That hadn't been a 'no'.  What could she want from Edogawa that had anything to do with wanting Kid alive... but not blocking hits on him?  What did she want from Kid?  From Edogawa?  ... From Kudou?  Hattori?  Saguru?  Was Saguru included in this?  
  
And why did that 'have fun' not sound like something he'd like at all?  
  
Three days later, an oncoming answer arrived in the form of another Kid heist notice showing up in the news.  This time, when he flicked a quizzical glance at Kaito in class, he got an almost imperceptible nod: yes, it was authentic.  
  
His eyes narrowed a bit, ears flicking forward and tail going stiff.  _You really couldn't put it off a while?_ he thought hard at Kaito, though he knew the answer all too well.  
  
A minute shrug: _No, I couldn't_.  
  
It turned out that was because the target -- no faffing about with riddles this time, just a blunt "I will be taking Elizabeth Taylor's ruby ring from Flight 301 at 8 pm" -- was only going to be in Japan for the night, a regulation layover at Narita to let the only security-cleared flight crew sleep on the plane between Seattle and Dubai.  The whims of the ridiculously rich, Saguru mentally grumbled.  
  
He grumbled considerably more when they ran up against the rich man's security team.  After, of course, needing to all but thwap their way up the department heads of airport security with a rolled-up writ of _let us do our goddamn job_ , as Doi-keiji politely put it.  
  
The grouchy bear they finally reached -- and Saguru did not mean that as a colloquialism, as the man was another hanyou -- looked almost human except for the shape of his unshaven ears and the darker shade to his blunt nose, but he was nearly twice Saguru's size and smelled of Asian black bear.  He also growled in his throat when Saguru walked in, a step behind and to the left of a fuming Nakamori.  
  
To his credit, Nakamori only paused when Saguru growled back.  _We know exactly who's the only predator of bears here, don't we_.  
  
"Nakamori-keibu.  Task Force."  Takanezawa's beady little eyes lingered on Saguru for a moment before he clearly decided dismissive silence was the most palatable option, and gestured to a slender, dark-skinned avian hanyou woman with an impressive spray of ginger-red tail feathers.  "Menura Feng-san, representing the security team of Flight 301."  
  
"It is pleasure to meet you," Menura said flatly and insincerely, her accent more Arabic than English.  "Do not enter one hundred fifty meters from plane.  We lockdown when I return.  Plane leaves at 6 am."  
  
"The plane has already been fueled and restocked," Takanezawa informed them, "so there's no reason for anyone to approach or enter.  Menura-san is being _generous_ in allowing anyone close enough to shoot."  
  
"I'm sure," Saguru muttered, then reached out towards the woman.  She glowered at him, but twitched her head to the side and let him pull at her dark face.  Not Kid.  
  
She eyed him consideringly, then flicked a glance at Nakamori-keibu.  "I see same," she pulled lightly where Saguru just had, "done on all you."  
  
Saguru looked askance at Nakamori-keibu, but let his face be pinched and reciprocated.  The pinch circled around the small group, until finally they'd all proven themselves to be themselves, and he turned back to Menura-san.  
  
"Come," she said.  
  
The Task Force followed her like ducklings through the winding halls of the bowels of the airport, Nakamori-keibu growling very credibly under his breath.  Saguru, partly to take his instincts off the damn tail feathers bobbing ever-so-slightly in his line of sight, kept a nose out for Kid and the rest of his attention calculating why the hell Takanezawa was letting the woman promise gun violence at all.  
  
Celebrities' precious gems, private jets, long-range private jets, armed private security forces, Arabic accent, and a taste for the exotic expressed right down to Menura Feng -- an obvious pseudonym, as a lyrebird hanyou's tail feathers should properly be neutral colors, but she'd dyed them to mimic a Chinese phoenix and no doubt marketed herself that way.  
  
It all added up to _royal oil baron_ , and Takanezawa -- unfortunately -- had every right to claim that Menura-san was being _generous_ about the matter.  No diplomat would weigh a thief's life against a ludicrously wealthy royal's economic tantrum and find in favor of the former.  
  
Saguru barely managed not to hiss at the bird when they reached the 170 m cordon -- the extra twenty meters for safety purposes -- and stopped, Nakamori giving Menura one last face check before she strode out between the spotlights and walked alone across the tarmac to the plane.  The security team dropped a rope ladder in lieu of stairs, hauled her up, and checked her a final time for themselves before pulling her into the jet.  The door swung shut with a certain fortress-like finality.  
  
All they could do then was settle in and wait.  
  
_Please be all right._  
  
Ten minutes.  
  
Twenty.  
  
Thirty.  
  
Forty-five.  
  
Planes continued to take off unaffected on the far side of the terminal, the scream of engines pulsing like a heartbeat, a breath, a mantra: _please be all right, please be all right, please_...  
  
One hour.  
  
One hour twenty minutes.  
  
One hour forty, and Saguru's tail began to lash.  
  
One minute and twelve seconds after that, the rearmost window in the line on the side of the jet popped off.  The collective gasp as Kid eeled out, white cape flaring in the spotlights, covered Saguru's own caught breath... and then the thief simply clambered up to the top of the jet, stood tall, and waved cheerfully at the lot of them.  
  
Then, gunshots.  
  
Kid jerked and jumped away, practically dancing up onto the tail and ducking behind one of the engine turbines.  
  
" _Don't move they will still shoot at us_!" Doi-keiji roared before Saguru -- before anyone -- could run across the 150 m mark spray-painted onto the tarmac.    
  
Saguru skidded to a halt at the line, tail lashing and nearly knocking him back off his feet.  _Kid.  Kid, no_ \--  
  
Someone's hand, gun glinting, squeezed out the same missing window, and blasted a few more shots fruitlessly -- _please fruitlessly, please_ \-- at Kid, bullets pinging and rattling tinnily (inside the turbine, it had to be with that echo and rebound) until the trigger clicked uselessly.  More aggravated shouts came from inside the plane.  
  
Kid smirked (unmistakable even at this distance), then raised his hand high, some object in it, and showily twitched his thumb.    
  
Several things happened in quick succession.  The turbines rumbled, then began to whine into a full screech.  The jet's door thunked open, and Menura swung out, firing coldly and methodically at Kid.  Kid's cape billowed into the telltale glider, and he leapt free of the plane.  
  
Turbulence from the exhaust flow knocked him crazily about; Menura's last few shots had a negligible chance of hitting him.  (Saguru couldn't calculate, couldn't _think_ , couldn't even go in and arrest the _psychotic hen_ \--)  
  
Six shots.  Clicking.  Cursing.  Kid had passed the fence, leveled out, was flying low and would vanish behind the fencing and buildings on the far side of the road before Menura could--  
  
Kid abruptly convulsed, dived, and vanished.  
  
_But she hadn't gotten a second gun yet_ , Saguru thought blankly, ludicrously, even as he bolted for the squad cars -- no, they'd have to drive around -- for the fence, then, bounding off one car's hood and catching onto the chain link up near the very top, biting into his fingers as he tore and twisted the angled barbed wire out of his way.  
  
Across the road.  A lower fence; he cleared that in one bound, landing on all fours in a warehouse parking lot.  Across the lot, a retaining wall, trees to the right, empty grass to the left--  
  
A heap of white.  
  
A splash of red.  
  
_No_.  
  
Entry wound, low on the left side, victim was unresponsive, still breathing, groaned when Saguru dug past the tangle of cape and glider struts and thief looking for-- no exit wound.  The gloves were some thick absorbent fiber blend, the cape nylon, nothing else readily available, Saguru balled up the gloves from the victim's hands and pressed them onto the wound.  
  
It took far too long, entire minutes, for the police to reach them, sirens distant past the rushing in Saguru's ears.  
  
Kai-- Kid's nails were starting to turn blue by then, hands so colorless the exposed curve of his jaw had to be covered in makeup.  The world shrank to nothing but his body and the cloying mineral scent of blood, so thick that Saguru very nearly bit Nakamori-keibu when the man skidded to a halt on his knees in the dirt next to him.  
  
The man sucked in a harsh, rasping breath.  "That's--"  But Nakamori couldn't possibly see who it was; Kid's hat was somehow still firmly in place.  He shook his head once, curt, as if flicking the matter aside for more immediate matters.  "Paramedics.  Two minutes."  
  
"You'll be arresting him," Saguru replied, for lack of anything better to say.  "Going along in the ambulance."  Obviously.  Senior arresting officer, no underling would suffice.  "You'll want to--" He swallowed.  "Want to.  Get the shock over with now."  
  
Nakamori didn't pretend not to know what Saguru was talking about.  He just gulped, then reached for Kid's hat with trembling hands.  Saguru closed his eyes, the better to not see Nakamori's face when a broken little sound escaped the man's throat.  
  
" _Kaito_..."  
  
Thirty-five seconds later, the ambulance arrived.  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
Saguru slowly turned the monocle over and over in his hands, the hospital fluorescents glinting rhythmically off the glass.  Such a small thing, to have already protected its master from... worse than this.  Once.  And ruined so much more.  
  
And brought Saguru to Japan, only to have his heart stolen as easily as any gemstone.  
  
Vaguely, he could hear Nakamori-keibu's shouting in the next waiting room over, the door closed and the dividing wall vibrating faintly.  Menura and her goons wanted to take the ring and leave the country, as if the bloody rock wasn't evidence and they weren't all suspects.  Not for the shooting itself, though not for lack of trying, but it was not at all implausible that they may have hired the sniper 'just in case'.  
  
Attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, a dozen gun control bylaws, the penalties raised for proximity to an airport... depending on where the sniper had been hidden, there were four elementary schools and a kindergarten that might lend their own penalty zones...  
  
_What would Vinyard's impersonator want in order to deliver the sniper up for prosecution?_ Saguru wondered.  Then, _what would I be willing to pay?_  
  
_... Is she counting on that to gain hold over one of us?_  
  
He needed coffee.  A decent night's sleep.  Perspective.  ~~For Kaito to look up at him and grin irrepressibly, and say "Did you really think a little bullet could stop me?"~~   Somebody to locate, arrest, and _get the sniper out of Saguru's reach_ before he tried sharpening his claws on the culprit's underbelly.  
  
But not Edogawa.  God no.  The boy would do it, too.  
  
Someone punched the shared wall, and Saguru startled nearly out of his seat.  "God, can't we just detain them and be done with it?" he muttered, rubbing tiredly at his face.  What time was it, anyway?  How long had Kaito been in surgery?  
  
It was only 1:17 am.  The surgeons couldn't even have found all the damage yet, much less started attempting to repair it...  
  
Light footsteps.  Worn leather and car exhaust and astringent disinfectants: a cab passenger.  Rain-scented soap.  Aoko.  Saguru lifted his head as much in surprise as anything else, to see the girl glance into the waiting room and very nearly stutter to a halt.  
  
"... Saguru-kun," she breathed.  Her eyes were shining, and she looked like she was running on coffee and a thin, thready sort of excitement that at the moment grated as badly as terror normally did.  "I heard-- it's all over the news, Dad captured Kaitou Kid?"  
  
"Aoko-san."  Oh god, not now.  Not this.  Not... _Man up, Saguru_ , he told himself firmly, and rasped out, "Yes."  And then, because he could not dampen down his meticulousness when he was this worn out, added, "Only because someone shot him."  
  
She jerked with a little, " _oh_ ," then rallied and tried, "Well.  But still, tha--"  
  
"Aoko," Saguru interrupted sharply.  "Don't."  He couldn't just let her go _celebrating_.  
  
"But--"  
  
" _Don't."_ He didn't know what the official line was going to be.  When they were going to announce... announce...  Saguru stood, glanced around at the Task Force officers (Hosoda-keiji alone was the only one in earshot, and he had his eyes fixed to some point far down the hall in the most obvious 'I hear nothing and see nothing' pose an officer of the law could pull off), then bent in close to Aoko.  "You can't go telling anyone this," he whispered harshly, ears flicking for other eavesdroppers, "but you of all people deserve to know."  _Forgive me._   "It's Kaito."  
  
"No it's not," she replied blankly.  
  
"AOKO."  Her mouth snapped shut.  "It's.  Kaito."  
  
She stared at him, aghast and trembling.  This close, he could see that her eyes were red-rimmed.  Wait, had she been crying already?  "I..." Her breath caught, and she tried again.  "I guess... it's stupid to keep pretending now."  
  
_What?_  
  
She wiped harshly at her eyes and glared at him.  "I've known Kaito since we were kids."  Her voice cracked and thickened with tears.  "Of _course_ I knew.  He's not exactly a," gulp, "a criminal _mastermind_ ," she wailed.  
  
Saguru could only pull her close to cry into his shoulder, his mind whirling.  She'd known.  She'd known for _months_.  Possibly even the whole time.  Neither of them had been protecting her from the terror, from just waiting for something like this to happen, all by herself...  
  
"-- had to pretend to _h-hate_ him, my _best friend_ , and I've said so many horrible things -- that little kid keeps showing up like it's all a _game_ and that makes me so _angry_ ," one small fist thumped against Saguru's other shoulder, "-- and then you got _shot_ last time, and I keep wondering if it's ever going to be _Daddy_ \--" Aoko broke into fresh sobbing.  
  
All Saguru could do was hold her, and damn propriety.  
  
But eventually the tears ran out, and the shaking subsided into an exhausted slump, and they found a couch and simply clung to each other in silence.  Waiting.  
  
At some point, scuffling and yelling in Arabic registered distantly through Saguru's half-doze.  He opened one eye to see a number of officers hauling Menura and her goons away in handcuffs, and Nakamori cursing them off with a very final, "and _fuck_ the politics!"  
  
So, detainment then.  They'd have forty-eight hours before _that_ headache came back.  
  
Nakamori, once the crowd was gone, seemed to just deflate.  One long, tired sigh later, he trudged in and slumped down on Aoko's other side.  "'M medical proxy now.  Any more work shit comes in, point 'em at Hosoda-keiji."  And with that, he at least pretended to go to sleep sitting up.  
  
Saguru failed to do the same, Aoko's weight and her bloodless grip the only anchor he had to the world -- that and the unchanging view of the waiting room door, and the faint thrum of the hospital.  Now that the hospital had wound down so thoroughly, the lights dimmed in the windowless room and the shouting next door silenced, he could hear the clicking of gears in the single clock on the wall, though they were too quiet for human hearing.  
  
Click.  
  
Click.  
  
Click.  
  
Click.  
  
Click.  
  
Two per second since ten o'five and fifteen seconds when he arrived -- Saguru found himself calculating at the same steady rhythm, and mentally shook his head to break it -- forty-three thousand two hundred plus thirty-eight forty plus fifty-six, seven, eight, nine...  
  
4:37 am.  
  
and one hundred twenty clicks, 4:38.  
  
and one hundred twenty clicks, 4:39.  
  
and one-two three-four five-six...  
  
Picture the violin's weight upon his shoulder instead of Aoko's, and set bow to strings in his mind.  _The violin sings with the voice of an angel, S_ aguru.  Calloused, age-spotted fingers adjusted his tiny ones on the neck in his memory.  _That doesn't mean it must always use an unfallen one's.  Up.  Again.  Allegro moderato, two, three, four, furioso._  
  
It wasn't any one piece playing in his memory, just the best (angriest) (most challenging and absorbing) measures, rambling from key to key without need to pause and retune.  His ears stopped flicking; his tail curled very properly away; his face slackened to a performance neutrality.  
  
Which was perhaps all that kept him from snarling when, some indeterminable time later (6:04 am), the tv began to blare, "-- _shots fired at last night's Kaitou Kid heist_!" with almost salacious glee.  
  
"Turn that off!" Saguru snapped at the nurse who'd just turned the television on.  
  
She glanced apologetically at him, then her eyes flicked to his hair and ears, and she drew herself up sharply.  "Sir, if you're going to be belligerent," she said with the very edge of a sneer coloring her otherwise perfectly polite tone, "I'm going to have to ask you to leave."  
  
Wonderful.  One of _those_.  Was it 'existing while hanyou' or 'existing while gaijin' that was worse for her narrow little mind?  
  
"-- _officials refusing to comment, but sources claim that several Arabic nationals have been detained_ \--" the newscaster continued, not nearly as loudly as he'd first thought.  Not loudly enough to wake either Nakamori, thank god.  But enough so that he couldn't ignore it, and what would that do to--  
  
Ah.  "I am _on the headline case_ ," he informed the woman icily.  "I can't have my statement biased by the reports!"  
  
With a little _hmph_ clearly meaning _as if anyone wouldn't suspect_ your _testimony_ , she simply muted the channel.  "Any further harrassment and I'll have security escort you out," she snapped, putting the remote into her pocket and strutting triumphantly away.  
  
As if he couldn't read lips, even in Japanese, or that there was no ticker scrolling the same headlines along the bottom of the screen.    
  
He'd lost the near-imperceptible metronome of the clock, and thus his ability to play music in his mind.  Worse, he could not bear to keep his eyes shut without the music there, nor was he at all capable of _not_ staring at the flickering, moving, bright image sitting in plain sight.  
  
Saguru therefore watched, trying to keep his eyes unfocused, and when that failed simply shunted the blur of information into categorization instead of analysis.  
  
The channel cycled perfunctorily through a round of other stories -- situation in the Middle East, protests in America, a developing typhoon -- then back to Kid.  
  
Shots fired, someone hospitalized, no new information, and now a stunning montage of previous heists in which someone fired shots.  A 'lovely' omission that the Memories Egg sniper was both identified and caught.  In no particular order followed the Red Tear, the Crystal Mother, Princess Anne's necklace -- another lovely omission, this time about that zealot Detective Delon -- the Last Emperor's Seal, and the Clock Tower where they yet again conveniently neglected to explain that the shots occurred when their long-lost darling, Kudou Shin'ichi, used them to cut down the ropes for Kid's trick.  They were really reaching for filler, weren't they.  
  
Another round of the same other stories.  A commercial break.  " _Welcome back!  If you're just joining us this morning's top story is last night's shooting at the Kaitou Kid heist_ \--"  Another round of filler.  Other stories.  Commercial break.  Filler.  Other stories.  Commercial break.  
  
The news show changed.  The news itself didn't.  Now with bonus pundits: the first one was a favorite keynote speaker at criminology seminars, a pompous windbag whose sole redeeming quality was that he never set foot in the field.  The second was better, an FBI profiler who actually knew what she was talking about, except for the part where she kept applying American values and assumptions and therefore went completely off into left field.  
  
Abruptly, the anchor interrupted her with a sharp, " _Excuse us, we're recieving possible new information on the situation at Takane Hospital.  Live on the scene is our reporter Ido Aijou._.."  
  
The image changed to the parking lot outside the hospital, where a yellow Beetle was disgorging a notably small passenger.  " _Kid-Killer_!" the reporter shouted breathlessly, a ragged chorus with several other reporters trailing cameramen.  " _Over here, Kid-Killer_!"  
  
Edogawa Conan shot them all a sour look over his shoulder, even as a few of them actually shoved microphones towards his mouth.  " _That's not really nice to say right now_ ," he told them flatly.  
  
" _Are you confirming it was Kaitou Kid who was shot_?" someone asked eagerly.  
  
Edogawa's brow wrinked.  " _I only know what you've been saying on the tv_."  A pause, while the entire crowd stood gobsmacked (where was their modicum of good sense? why should a child have more information than them?) and then Edogawa brightened.  " _Lemme through to find out and I'll talk to you guys after, okay?_ "  
  
Saguru barely managed to keep from jerking out of his seat.  _HE'D DO WHAT?_  
  
" _Somebody_ ," Nakamori-keibu growled, low in his throat and wide awake, "is going to get a _spanking_."  
  
"And no information," Saguru agreed.  The nerve of the boy!  Promising to blow the case wide open to anyone willing to shove a microphone at him!  Since when did he _do_ that?!  
  
By the time Edogawa arrived -- half-scruffed by a police officer via the back of his shirt -- both Nakamoris were awake and growling to very nearly match Saguru.  "Um."  Edogawa ducked further into his shirt collar, glancing at the vexed officer and then back at them sheepishly.  "What did I do?"  
  
Saguru couldn't even speak.  He pointed at the television, one dark claw out and the rest digging into his palm.  
  
Edogawa followed his finger, blinked, and then relaxed.  _Relaxed!_   "Oh.  That."  Aoko sucked in a furious breath, but Edogawa went on hastily, "I only promised to talk to them, I didn't promise to talk to them _about the case_!"  The officer's grip slackened enough to let him settle flat onto his feet, and he plastered on his most disturbingly guileless expression and chirped, "They should hear aaaaaaaaall about Sherlock Holmes Gakuen, don't you think?"  
  
Sherlock... "The puppet show?" Saguru asked incredulously.  
  
"Uh huh!  I keep getting distracted from the story watching Sherlock's nose.  It's really weird, it looks like a long thin doorknob."  He let them take that in for a moment, then Saguru's claws sheathed, and Nakamori gestured sharply for the officer to let Edogawa loose.  The boy smoothed his shirt back into place, sobered, and regained his usual professional maturity.  "So, what happened?"  
  
Nakamori swallowed, then gruffly said, "Kid's in surgery."  
  
Edogawa closed his eyes, exhaled long and shakily and slow, then opened them again.  "All right," he said.  Then he climbed into the chair nearest to himself, knuckles white on the armrest.  "I'm staying."  
  
"Why should we let you?" Nakamori asked, glowering paternally.  "Don't you have school?"  
  
Edogawa shot him a sharp glare.  "It's not like _I_ can arrest him," he answered with a hint of incredulity. "Even if I _tried_.  And it's better for me to be here than to have all those vultures trying to get me at recess, don't you think?"  A long moment passed in silence, then he looked away and slowly added, "... Besides... if he's who I think he is..."  His voice went very small, and suddenly actually matched his lack of age for once.  "... He might be a relative."  
  
Nakamori deflated.  "... Aw goddammit, kid."  
  
"Yukiko-bachan will want to know anyway," the boy rallied.  
  
"Fine!  Fine." Nakamori scrubbed his face with a hand.  "Kudou Yukiko?  She would want to, yes... fine.  Stay put and behave."  He slumped back into his chair, and Saguru carefully did not hear any mutterings about needing a drink.  
  
He just as carefully did not hear Edogawa mutter an agreement to that.  
  
It could have been hours by the time Doi-keiji came looking for them, wearing thankfully pristine, if wrinkled, scrubs.  "He's still in serious condition," Doi told them without preamble, "but they're stitching him up now, and have assigned a hospital room.  Sanada-keiji's taken a squad to clear it and cover security there."  Doi hesitated.  "... If he pulls through the next twenty-four hours..."  
  
Saguru felt Aoko shrink in his arms.  
  
Doi glanced at Nakamori-keibu, then back at them, and leaned in close.  "Look.  I..."  His gaze flickered away, then back.  "The guy I'm sending with the evidence."  _The bullet_ , Saguru mentally supplied.  "He's going to go leave offerings after he drops it off, do you want him to add a stick of incense for you?"  
  
After a long moment, Aoko swallowed, and managed a thin, reedy, "... It couldn't hurt."  Then, "Yes.  Please."  
  
Doi's gaze flickered across the rest of them once more.  Saguru shook his head, as did Edogawa; Nakamori-keibu just narrowed his eyes.  "Intensive Care, Room 535, sir," Doi said hastily, before bowing and making his way out.  
  
Aoko's grip was crushingly grounding as they made their way upstairs to the correct ward, Edogawa getting past the nurse on duty by the sheer hardness of his expression as far as Saguru could tell.  Room 535 -- easily located by following the halls lined with police guards every ten meters -- was a windowless interior room, with bars welded over the air vents and video cameras aimed at the door, and Sanada-keiji stood at icy, brittle attention next to the open doorway.  
  
Edogawa stopped outside the room.  
  
Saguru paused, as Aoko rushed in ahead of them with a tiny cry.  "Aren't you coming?" he asked.  
  
Edogawa shook his head.  "He wouldn't want me to see him like this."  And he deliberately stuck his hands in his pockets and leaned against the wall, visibly settling in for a long wait.  
  
Saguru stifled the impulse to just scruff the boy up off his feet and haul him into the room anyway.  "... I'll have someone bring out a chair for you, then."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
For a too-long moment -- a split second, a bemused eternity -- Saguru felt like he'd walked into the wrong hospital room.  It hadn't been occupied long enough to smell of anything but disinfectants and scrubbed air, and Aoko's dark figure loomed shakily over a mere lump on the bed, too slender, too pale, too _still_...  
  
Kaito had so much presence, Saguru hadn't realized how compactly built the thief actually was.  Had to be, to impersonate slender young ladies like Suzuki Sonoko.  But now... now, deeply sedated and too many pints low, and half-buried among thin bleached sheets and the powder-blue hospital gown, he seemed a faded semblence of himself.  
  
Saguru swallowed back bile at the sight of the transfusion IV biting into the back of Kaito's hand, the tube taped to a white leather cuff strapped to the bedframe.  Matching cuffs held the magician's other wrist and both ankles, thick bands unmistakable under the blanket.  
  
"Bakaito..." Aoko whispered thickly.  
  
No response.  
  
Of _course_ there would be no response, even the most surprising, unpredictable, stubborn--- even Kaitou Kid couldn't throw off anesthetics.  Even if he could, he'd be in considerable pain from the bullet and removal surgery...  
  
It was horrifyingly unnatural to see the magician so still, despite the facts.  
  
Saguru sat down heavily in the other chair, his tail drooping across the cushion and into his lap.  Aoko had Kaito's fingers clasped in a double grip like she was handling precious glassware; her father had his hand curled in Kaito's wild hair, and a crack somewhere deep in his expression resonated with Saguru's own heart.  
  
"If I could go back in time, I'd punch myself in the face," Nakamori eventually said.  
  
"I think we can all agree on that," Saguru answered wearily.  
  
"Where's the kid?" he asked after another moment.  
  
"Outside.  He doesn't think Kid would want him here."  
  
Nakamori growled something rude about Edogawa's intelligence under his breath.  Personally, Saguru agreed -- not precisely in that language, of course -- but he was probably following reasoning exactly the opposite of Nakamori's.  To wit, that Kaito wouldn't want _anybody_ to see him like this, so what did it matter if Edogawa did as well?  
  
_And forgive us our trespasses_... It was one person less to be trespassing on his... something.  Agency, perhaps.  Dignity, whatever odd form it could take when Kaito happily played the part of the fool.  
  
Saguru didn't know how long he stood there, watching Kaito's chest rise steadily and fall, the awful still slackness of his face...  No one was pretty in hospital, and Kaito certainly wasn't even with his masks fallen to leave only the basic androgynous features that served him so well, but the faint patina of sweat, the slight gravitationally-fueled flush near the sheets against the unnatural pallor elsewhere, the life pulsing steadily in his throat...  
  
Kaito was alive, and after long enough watching, that made even this horror palatable.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
Saguru startled, his tail bushing up, and glanced over to see a nurse had poked her head in the door.  She gave them all an unimpressed look, gaze barely catching on his tail.  "The child outside, is he yours?"  Without waiting for an answer, she added, "Children aren't allowed around the hospital unsupervised.  We've sent him back to the waiting room."  Her eyes landed pointedly on Nakamori.  "One of you should go keep an eye on him."  
  
... Oh.  Saguru should--  
  
"I'm going," Nakamori grumbled.  At Saguru's look, he said, "No cell phones in the rooms anyway, and they won't want cops tromping up and down the halls either.  The paperwork's probably already piling up on my desk."  And he fled, leaving only the scent of misery in his wake.  
  
(Not that it wasn't already thick in the room, but a middle-aged man's smelled much different to a girl's or a hanyou's.)  
  
People were probably clamoring for Saguru's head by now as well, but sod that.  He was staying right here until the idiot woke up.  Or the nurses kicked them out.  
  
He wouldn't let the nurses kick him out.  Somehow.  
  
Shortly after Nakamori left, an orderly shuffled in, carrying a pile of folded bedding, and paused in surprise.  "Didn't think anyone was left in here," he rasped.  Saguru caught the strangest metallic scent--  
  
Aoko jerked to her feet, yanking her own chair up with a startled cry, and Saguru found himself mid-leap and halfway across the bed, even as the unexpected stench of gunpowder registered in his conscious mind and the man's hidden gun went off.  Into the ceiling, thank Aoko's sharp reflexes, and then Saguru hit the  
  
_prey_  
  
with all his claws unsheathed.  His shoes saved the bastard's guts from being raked out, but he half-tore the man's handlebar moustache off, and something snapped under Saguru's palm.  He screamed, jaw hanging loose, and passed out.  
  
_Then_ the cops on guard finally piled into the room.  Yelling, chaos, _prey murderer assassin someone tried to kill Kaito_ and Saguru couldn't be arsed to _think_ \--  
  
He had to.  
  
God, he had to.  
  
"Get this thing _out of my sight_ ," he growled.  "Whoever was slacking on the job--"  No.  No wrath upon somewhat-deserving targets, even as much as he wanted to.  No.  
  
Someone tried to kill Kaito.  Again.  As a civilian.  
  
And Saguru could think of only one way to end it once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The definition of insanity is doing the same thing and expecting different results. Why, then, do I keep shooting at Kid?


	5. When the stars threw down their spears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this might seem a little anticlimactic, but...

It was highly unusual for anyone to get in to see the head of the national police without an appointment, even his son, but Saguru was only left to cool his metaphorical heels for ten minutes and twenty-three seconds before the secretary gave him an unfazed "He'll see you now."  
  
That ten minutes was just enough time for his noradrenaline levels to saturate up to the point where his flight-fight response tipped over to a far more inhuman, clear-headed, murderous calm.  
  
The whole world seemed bright-lined and slow-moving as Saguru prowled into his father's office.  
  
Hakuba Hotei had long since affected a jovial demeanor and indulgent diet to put people off guard, thus successfully managing to convince the casual observer that he was a doughnut-and-coffee bureaucrat instead of a veritable wrecking ball of well-padded youkai muscle.  He still had his disarming broad smile fixed firmly in place as he greeted Saguru warmly, but the set of his ears spoke volumes.  
  
_Going to challenge your old man?_  
  
Saguru chuffed lightly as he took a seat.  _Not hardly likely._  
  
"And what brings you by, my boy?"  
  
"Someone just tried to assassinate Kuroba Kaito in hospital," Saguru replied flatly.  It was a shame he'd broken and dislocated the man's jaw instead of something else.  An interrogation would be far more difficult now, assuming the bastard survived in custody.  
  
Chris Vineyard's imposter had easily tampered with the police force's internal politics not even two weeks ago.  Saguru had no illusions that had exhausted her influence.  
  
"Ah," his father purred.  Not in pleasure, or Saguru may well have taken a calculated swipe at him.  "The alleged Kaitou Kid.  You'd still be there waiting to ambush further assassins, but you have something more important you need me for."  He raised an eyebrow.  "Since there's nothing more important in your life at the moment than that boy..."  
  
Saguru's ear flicked, his face warming noticeably.  
  
"You still have fifty years before you can pull one over on me," his father said with a wink.  "Now then.  Did you have any ideas?"  
  
Just the one.  "He can't be Kaitou Kid."  His father gestured _tell me more_.  "Ever.  He can't be identified, arrested, or charged with being Kaitou Kid, much less convicted.  Not without sacrificing our reputations, and that of the police by association."  Politics.  God how it burned in his throat.  But Kaito's life...  Saguru inhaled one shuddering breath, one breath of exactly why Kaito had to be immune to arrest.  "Because I would've had to know Kaito was Kid exactly thirty hours and forty-nine minutes after my arrival in Japan, when I set foot in my classroom the morning after my first encounter with Kid... and found the exact same scent sitting three desks away from my own."  
  
"Scent isn't permissible evidence," Saguru's father remarked conversationally.  
  
"And yet it makes me an accessory, does it not?"  Saguru had to press his point.  Kaito's life was on the line.  "Worse, an accessory you _personally_ appointed to the Task Force -- pressing the limits of no less than three department regulations, I am aware -- by sheer nepotism.  A move that added several people to the ranks of your enemies.  Should one factor in the abrupt transfers of officers attempting to interrogate me over alleged collusion with Kid just two weeks ago... it all looks very bad for you, Father."  
  
"Not for you?"  
  
"I do not _care_!" Saguru snapped, ending with a growl only barely stifled in his throat.  "I'd claim to be Kid _myself_ if it would keep Kaito safe!"  
  
His father stared at him in open shock, for what was perhaps the first time in Saguru's life.  
  
"Kuroba Kaito is just a fan," Saguru said, settling back into his chair and rubbing a hand over his face.  "Just a fan, who Kaitou Kid dived to rescue when one of Menura-san's shots hit an innocent bystander.  The ballistic trajectory is probable enough, and Kaito was found well within the lethal distance for a bullet of that caliber.  As for the accessories that made the initial reports claim Kid... well.  I've seen people wearing 'Kid in disguise' T-shirts at actual heists.  A monocle or a silly cape is not out of the question.  
  
"Besides... everybody knows, he's thirty years too young to be the real Kid."  
  
So, the real Kaitou Kid could never be caught.  Even if he... even _though_ he would keep stealing, keep breaking the law and risking his life for something, something important enough that Aoko's regards and repeated attempts on his life couldn't dissuade him...  
  
And Saguru was going to have to watch that, be _part_ of that, possibly until the day the bullets hit their mark.  
  
Perhaps Saguru should... no.  He couldn't recuse himself from chasing Kid.  The public would believe Kaito wasn't Kid -- _whoever was sending assassins_ would believe it -- but not if Saguru quit in response to the entire mess.  
  
"Excellent work, Saguru."  Saguru's head shot up, and he stared at his father in confusion.  Where was the flat _no_?  The _damn that boy has corrupted you_?  The _you ask too much of me, Saguru_ , which Saguru would have to browbeat until finally his father capitulated to necessity?  _Excellent work_?  "Tell my secretary to send out the press release as you leave, would you?"  
  
The... press release?  As in one already written?  With this exact...?  ... Oh, for pete's sake.  "You figured all this out last night, didn't you."  
  
"To be fair, you were a bit distracted.  Go on, then, give my regards to Kuroba-san and the Nakamoris."  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
The officers outside Kaito's hospital room had been doubled, well-caffeinated, and raked over the proverbial coals, and frisked Saguru thoroughly under Edogawa's wary eye before allowing him past the door.  
  
Aoko barely glanced at him, her attention riveted to the tv bolted high in the corner, where the news cycle was playing at low volume.  Her eyes were wide and wet with stark disbelief over her fist, curled loosely over her mouth as if she'd gasped and then completely forgotten it was there.  
  
She didn't move until Saguru stepped up to the side of Kaito's bed and began silently unlocking the restraints.  Kaito's skin was damp, the scent of sweat faint where the heavy padding had blocked the air, but it wasn't at all raw or even starting to pink-- one benefit of being too deep under to move, Saguru supposed.  
  
"You-- you really love him."  
  
Saguru fumbled the strap, thick canvas and Kaito's wrist slipping free of his grip to thump onto the bed.  "Er.  No...?"  Not yet, good lord.  
  
"I'm not stupid."  Aoko swallowed.  "If-- if you could--"  She shook her head sharply, chin firming. "If you were okay with him going away, they'd be saying they caught Kid and he'd be going into protective custody."  
  
It hadn't even occurred to him.  "The politics..."  Aoko stared flatly at him, and he let that excuse drop unfinished.  Of course she'd not believe it.  "... I never had any intention of coming between you two," he mumbled at the floor, not entirely accurately.  
  
If... if she hadn't figured out about Kid, if it had driven an insurmountable wedge between them... maybe he could've been there for her.  
  
Not for Kaito.  Never for Kaito.  Even as much as he wished it could be, Kaito would never have let him close.  
  
Either way, they would have both mourned for the other, as would Saguru, and that would've rather been coming between them, wouldn't it?  Now, however...  Under the circumstances, it was best that he bow out, that they could reconnect with each other and pair off at last.  And for that, he couldn't love either of them.  
  
Oh.  Of course.  
  
Slowly, he dragged his gaze back up to hers.  "... It's not that I can't bear for him to leave me," Saguru lied, flatly and blatantly.  "It's that I can't bear for him to have to leave you."  
  
_To compose a lie, mix two parts truth to one part-_ -  
  
If only the formula were that simple.  Then again, he had the mix vastly, vastly skewed in the other direction.  Aoko should swallow it anyway, shouldn't she?  
  
Her considering stare reminded Saguru that Aoko had grown up with _Kaito_ , and had never been taken in by his claim he wasn't Kid.  
  
Then her eyes gentled, and the very tip of her nose went pink as she smiled a little.  "I like you too, Saguru-kun."  
  
Saguru sputtered.  
  
"So," she continued, sweet and implacable, her gaze shifting to Kaito, "I guess we'll just have to wait til he wakes up, and see what he wants."  The room fell silent as she clasped her hands behind her back, shifting her stance girlishly, and after a long moment...  "He might be too skittish for either of us, much less one or both."  Blue eyes flickered to him.  "I can wait if you can."  
  
"I..."  What was she... was she honestly suggesting... _Aoko_?  
  
His mouth worked soundlessly, and she frowned.  "Sit."  Saguru sat, half-collapsing into a chair left forgotten near the head of Kaito's bed.  "Have you even slept yet?"  
  
"... Slept?"  
  
She sighed ruefully.  "You're too tired to think.  Put your head down, I've got this."  She plucked the key from where he'd left it lost in the blankets near Kaito's hip, and unlocked and unbuckled his other wrist briskly.  Saguru watched, still at a loss for words, until Aoko took an extra pillow from a lower cabinet on the far side of the bed and plopped it up against Kaito's arm.  "Head.  Pillow."  
  
Slowly, Saguru put his head down as ordered, ears flattening a little as he shifted in his chair until nothing was poking too hard anywhere.  It left most of his torso squeezed at an odd angle between Kaito and the railing, and his tail threaded under the armrest of his chair, but it was more comfortable than an airline seat at least.  And it filled his head with Kaito's scent.  
  
Then slim fingers slid into his hair, and nails the perfect length for scritching began to rub between his ears, and he purred himself to sleep.  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
Saguru's sleep cycle was still rather off when the doctors began to wean Kaito off the sedatives, and so it was a disturbingly apt 4:12 am when he finally stirred.  Heart in his throat, Saguru closed his book, but left his tail where it had been trailing alongside Kaito's wrist as he watched the slow movements and waited.  
  
A faint catch of breath, when Kaito finally moved the wrong way, and blue eyes opened glassily.  
  
"You are not under arrest," Saguru informed him, hoping the shot of adrenaline had woken Kaito up enough to comprehend.  "It is approximately a quarter after four on Tuesday morning, and you were in an accident while watching the Kid heist."  
  
"...'guru?"  
  
He sounded so _lost_.  
  
Saguru hesitated just long enough to realize he was suppressing the impulse, then reached out and gathered up Kaito's closest hand.  He curled the fingers under, enclosed the resulting fist so that Kaito could feel the warmth, then slid his hands up and around Kaito's bare wrist, chafing the flesh there a little before putting Kaito's hand back down and leaving him to feel the cool air and rumpled bedsheets.  There, see?  No restraints.  "You're not under arrest," he repeated.  
  
Kaito stared.  His far hand shifted subtly, checking for bedding, air, and a lack of diminished movement, and found them all as expected.  Or, rather, unexpected, since they were there and Saguru wasn't lying.  "... _How_?" he rasped.  
  
Saguru tapped his nose ruefully.  "It turns out that between my species and position, too many reputations are at stake for you to be anything other than an injured fan."  He huffed a little.  "My father waited until I came to insist upon it before releasing that to the press.  However, you do remain anonymous... save for your little cousin and Nakamori-keibu, neither of whom are taking your injury with much equanimity, and Aoko-kun, who is far more devious than either of us ever suspected."  
  
"... Huh?"  
  
Apparently even Kaito's genius couldn't cut through a medicated stupor.  "You're not under arrest because politics," Saguru translated, "and no one hates you because we're not stupid and we love you."  
  
Kaito blushed brightly, both in that the pink contrasted vibrantly against his ill pallor and in that it likely would've been a deep red had he been well.  
  
... Oh hell.  "Er."  
  
"No takebacks," Kaito managed.  "... Water?"  
  
It should probably be ice, as he'd had nothing but IV nutrients since his surgery, but the hospital room lacked a freezer... and Saguru'd had a case once involving poisoned ice.  It was the middle of the night and there were no witnesses, when better to indulge his overprotective paranoia?  
  
"Small sips," he cautioned, as he held the large cup and straw where Kaito could reach easily.  "You want to wet your throat and keep it down."  
  
Somehow, he scrupulously managed not to watch Kaito's mouth while the thief obeyed.  
  
"Doctor," Kaito said firmly, with great effort, once he'd taken a couple swallows.  "No meds."  
  
"Doctor," Saguru agreed, leaning over to press the call button.  "Yes meds."  
  
"No.  Need... think."  
  
Understandable, but, "It won't work."  He'd be scarcely more clear-headed through the pain than he was now, even if the doctor would agree.  ... Or, rather, if Nakamori-keibu agreed, considering who stood _in loco parentis_ at the moment.  Blast Kaito's mother anyway, where on earth was the woman?  
  
Hopefully it wouldn't occur to Kaito to wonder.  
  
"Please?"  Beads of sweat stood out along Kaito's hairline, eyes almost glowing from the sheer effort of trying to focus.    
  
Dammit all.  Saguru caved.  "... We'll try for a happy medium."  And then the room flooded with night personnel, and Saguru found himself summarily kicked out.  So he slipped off to the waiting room and made a call.  
  
"Moshi moshi, keibu.  He's awake."  
  
  
-0-0-0  
  
  
That wasn't the end of it, of course -- Kaito kept forgetting that he'd already woken the first half-dozen times he did, before the doctors dialed back his medication enough for him to understand anything -- and it was another couple of days after that before they deemed him _compos mentis_ and able to handle shocks.  
  
That very night, Aoko smuggled in popcorn and a movie and declared it their first date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- Kaito's mother went to ground and is still pretty sure "nope it's not Kid" is a trap. She'll risk visiting in a few more days.


End file.
